Right Here
by R.W. plus me
Summary: "All's fair in love and war. And this is a little bit of both." The story of Ron and Hermione post-Deathly Hallows. Now complete!
1. Leaving Hogwarts

**A.N. - Hi everybody! This is my first attempt at a fanfiction story. I hope you all enjoy it, reviews would be amazing! Happy New Year!**

Chapter One:

Grief covered the castle like a blanket. It smothered the happiness and thrill of finally being safe. Hermione could feel it like a weight in the pit of her stomach. It crushed her lungs and caused her to gasp for breath. But breathing did nothing; the air itself seemed thicker. It was as though the grief and sadness had turned the air solid.

The crumbling stone and crimson splattered walls made everything seem horribly vivid, like a nightmare with no end. Seeing the debris and remnants of the battle made her shiver. There was no escape from everything that had happened; it was consuming. Hermione supposed most people felt this way; there was a mad rush to leave the castle as quickly as possible. Later in the summer, when people had gotten some space and a little time to mourn, they would come back to rebuild Hogwarts. But now, it was too soon to start rebuilding everything.

The Weasleys were planning on leaving the following morning. Harry and Hermione, of course, were going with them. There had been no questioning in this plan; it had already been decided for them. They did not, after all, have any other place to go. Hermione's parent's house was surely destroyed, and Harry couldn't return to Grimmuald Place. Since she had not been involved in the departure plans, Hermione let herself get swept away with the voices of the others. If felt nice to allow others to decide things for her, it was such a change from last year. Knowing that other's were taking care of things, that she didn't have to worry, comforted her.

The only problem with leaving in the morning was that they would have to stay the night in the castle. Many people were; there was plenty of room for people to stay. But Hermione wasn't sure if she could sleep. The following night no one had slept; the battle had gone on all night long. When it ended in the early hours of the morning, no one could even think of sleeping. Now, as night fell around the castle, people were conjuring sleeping bags or mattresses and setting them down in empty classrooms and corridors. She was scared that if she closed her eyes, if she allowed herself to be vulnerable for a second, she would get swept away in the fear of everything that had happened. She was scared that if she closed her eyes, she would be able to hear the echoes of the fighting.

Hermione had not been able to voice these thoughts to anyone. Harry had been with Ginny all day. They had set out for a walk around the grounds in the early afternoon when Harry had woken up. They hadn't shown up until after dinner, both with red eyes and pale faces. They had spent the rest of the evening together, and Hermione thought it would have been insensitive if she asked to split them up and talk to Harry.

Also noticeably absent was Ron; he had been walking around the castle all day. Hermione had caught glimpses of him at random intervals throughout the day, but she had not spoken to him. Every time she called out to him, he would pretend not to hear her and walk away. She tried not to take this personally, but she couldn't help feeling a crushing feeling behind her heart every time he looked up at her, and then walked away.

It was strange; the three of them being split up. Hermione had been so used to being isolated with the two of them that she had forgotten what it was like to be surrounded by other people. Sometimes, it felt good. At breakfast, it was nice to just sit back and enjoy the lull of the conversation, knowing that if she didn't join in no one would notice. But by dinner time she had started to feel lost, the people surrounding her were so different than she was. They didn't know what she knew, what she had seen. The past year seemed to have set her apart in some unsettling way.

At around one in the morning, Hermione gave up on trying to sleep (though truthfully she had not been trying very hard), and tip toed out of the castle. The front doors were left open so that the cool summer breeze could enter Hogwarts, the light summer air mixing uneasily with the heavy, sad air of the castle. She let her feet guide her; there was no where that she was anxious to go, nothing she was anxious to see.

The moment she left the castle she felt a small weight lift in her chest. The stone walls didn't hold her in and remind her of things. Out here, there was nothing to trap her, nothing to hold her in. And the cries she heard in her head had nothing to echo off of, they were absorbed in the clear, summery night.

She walked past the greenhouses and past Hagrid's hut, which had been destroyed. She walked at the edge of the forest, passing the dark masses that were trees. It didn't scare her, being this close to the dark Forbidden Forest; she was almost sure that nothing would scare her anymore.

A half hour later she found herself by the lake. She sat down by the edge, dipping her toes in the cold water. The lake cast an eerie, greenish glow. Hermione looked out at the water, where the moon, completely full tonight, was reflected in the calm black water. She looked at the second moon until it burned an image on her retinas and she could see it when she blinked. A soft breeze picked up, playing with her hair and making her shiver. She removed her feet from the water and curled her legs into her chest. She sat there at the edge of the lake like this, staring into the nothingness, until the sun rose.

The day was welcomed in with a beautiful sunrise, so beautiful Hermione considered it indecent. How could something so lovely happen when there was such sadness? Why was she able to see this, able to enjoy it, when so many people could not? Hermione felt unexplained tears leaking from the corner of her eyes, as the sun rose over the mountains and the lake. When she felt as though she could not take any more, she sat up, stretching, and turned to walk back to the castle.

When she stood up, she found herself face to face with Harry. She hastily wiped her eyes with the corner of her shirt. She was not ashamed that he had seen her cry, but she wasn't sure she could explain exactly why she was crying.

"I was looking for you. We're about to leave, are you ready?" Harry asked, his voice low and soft.

Hermione nodded; she hadn't spoken in such a long time she wasn't sure if she would be able to. Without another look at him, she began walking up to the castle. Now that she had seen Harry, she wasn't exactly sure what she wanted to say to him. There was so much building up, she didn't know how to start.

As she started walking, she felt something catch on her sleeve. She turned her head to look, and Harry pulled her in, hugging her. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths as fresh tears welled up in her eyes. Like the sunrise, this closeness ripped at her soul. Being so close to Harry, with such raw emotion in between them, made her throat close up and her eyes well. She felt the front of Harry's shirt become soaked with her tears. She bowed her head slightly so that he could rest his head on top of hers. They stood like that, with his arms wrapped around her and her body curled into his, for what seemed like hours.

When they let go, Hermione could tell that Harry had tears in his eyes too, but he was trying to hide them well. She touched his cheek, but it was not in a romantic or flirtatious way. Their relationship was entirely platonic; they had known this for years. They started up to the castle together, bumping shoulders occasionally as they walked in silence. When they reached the front doors, they could see all of the Weasleys waiting for them, huddled together in the bright morning sun. Ron hung back, about five feet from the rest of them.

Hermione stopped short, looking at them. Harry, seeing that she had stopped walking, stopped too and followed her line of vision, which pointed directly to Ron. He gave her a knowing look and nodded.

"I'm worried about him," she whispered. He nodded in agreement; he had been thinking the same thing, she was sure of it.

"He hasn't said anything at all, he just walks around," Harry said, watching their best friend. "I don't know what to say to him," he added helplessly.

Hermione grasped his hand for a moment, then let go. "I – I'll talk to him. I'll talk to him when we get to the Burrow," she murmured, wondering to herself what she could possibly say.

The walked up the front stairs, and met the Weasleys, who were stationed around an old addition of a Muggle newspaper. It was a portkey, Hermione knew, that would take them to the Burrow, a place she now considered her home.

"Are you ready dears?" Mrs. Weasley asked as Hermione and Harry approached them. Her voice was shaky and broken in places. It hurt Hermione to listen to it, to hear all of the sadness in her voice. She nodded, because she didn't think she would have been able to say anything.

She placed a hand on the newspaper. It glowed blue and she looked up, meaning to take one last look at Hogwarts. Instead, she met Ron's gaze; he was standing directly opposite her. There was something broken behind his blue eyes. She felt an immediate surge of emotion for him; she opened her mouth to say something. But her brain seemed empty, a feeling completely unknown to her. His look penetrated her skin and seared her soul. She felt naked and vulnerable in front of his gaze. It was as if he knew everything about her. She tried to look back at him but she didn't know if she could hold his gaze. Then, she was jerked forward into nothingness and felt herself spinning though the air. And although she could no longer see Ron, she could feel him.

Seconds later she felt herself crashing back to earth, hitting the grass hard. She winced and sat up, rubbing her ribs. The Burrow was towering in front of her the glass twinkling welcomingly in the early morning sun. Through the sadness and the pain she felt, there was a small flicker of something else as well. She saw it reflected in the faces around her. She was home, she was safe. Here, there was nothing that could hurt her.


	2. Fixing What is Broken

**A.N – Thank you so, so much to everyone who commented. They were all fantastic!**

Chapter Two:

As everyone walked toward the house, Hermione could see Ron walking in the opposite direction out of the corner of her eye. Their unspoken conversation over the portkey was still resonating in her heart, which was beating extremely fast. She looked next to her, where Harry stood, but he was gone. She watched as he followed Ron to the garden. Maybe he had formulated a conversation in his head; hers was still incredibly empty.

"I don't know why he's even bothering. It's not going to help at all," said a voice behind her. Hermione turned and saw Ginny, who had stopped to watch the two boys as well.

"What?" Hermione asked Ginny, as Harry turned to Ron. Harry's mouth was moving, but she was too far away to hear what he was saying.

"I meant I don't know why Harry is bothering. Ron's not going to change," Ginny said. There was a familiar mixture of scorn and annoyance, the expression she usually wore when addressing Ron, on her puffy tear-stained face.

"Oh," said Hermione, because she didn't know what else to say. Truthfully, there really was nothing to add to Ginny's statement, probably because she was right.

"Come on, let's go inside," Ginny said, motioning to the house. Hermione nodded in agreement, and they walked in together.

The scene that met their eyes was one of the most tragic things Hermione had ever seen. The Weasleys were all standing around the living room and the kitchen. George was pacing near the fireplace, his head down. Occasional drops of water would drip from the tip of his nose onto the carpet. Charlie was sitting on the arm of the sofa, watching George, his face full of pain. Mr. Weasley was standing by the window near the front door, staring out at the lawn, though not really seeing it. In the kitchen, Fleur was busting around making tea for Bill and Mrs. Weasley who were both sitting at the kitchen table. Mrs. Weasley was crying softly into her hands and Bill was tapping his wand on the table, making the salt and pepper shakers dance in front of them. Hermione would have bet anything that he didn't know he was doing it. In front of them, Percy was sitting on the stairs, rocking back and forth, clutching his hair.

They were all so sad they didn't know what to do with themselves. Hermione wanted to rush over and help Fleur, do anything that would help her escape from watching this, but her feet didn't seem to obey her. She found herself rooted to the spot, unable to move or do anything. They all stood in front of her, the most broken family Hermione had ever seen.

The back door banged open and Harry walked in, breaking the spell. He looked angry, and Hermione watched as he caught Ginny's eye. From her left, Hermione heard Ginny murmur something darkly under her breath. He walked by them into the sitting room, and Ginny followed him. Hermione was sure he was frustrated with Ron, and had asked Ginny to help him vent.

They emerged several minutes later, Harry still fuming only less visibly. Ginny caught Hermione's eye and gave her a meaningful look. Then, she addressed her family, who had not moved since she had left with Harry.

"Ron's outside and he won't come in," Ginny said, her voice falling oddly on the ears of the Weasley, Harry, and Hermione. They had been so used to the silence, new noises sounded foreign, out of place.

No one responded to Ginny, but Charlie got off of the sofa and walked out the back door. Hermione watched as he walked into the garden and sit next to Ron. She watched as he attempted to embrace his younger brother, who did not move. Hermione turned away from the window, unable to watch.

When she turned, she was standing face to face with Harry. She raised her eyebrows and gave him a questioning look. She wanted to know what had happened. He nodded and turned back into the sitting room. She followed him there apprehensively. As much as she wanted to know what had happened, she was scared as well.

Harry sat on chair and Hermione sat on the arm of the sofa facing him. They sat in silence for a few moments, neither one wanting to be the one to initiate what was sure to be a slightly awkward conversation.

"So…" Hermione said, urging Harry to talk. The sooner they got this over with, the better. She didn't want to know how much pain Ron truly was in.

"There's not much to tell, really. I tried talking to him but he won't say anything. I tried every tactic, but he wouldn't even look at me. He just sat there staring straight ahead." Harry said, clutching the arms of the sofa for support. "I don't even know why I'm so angry. It's just – I don't know. He wouldn't talk. That's what got to me. He wouldn't talk."

Hermione realized she had been holding her breath the whole time Harry had been speaking. When he was done, she let the air out slowly, her head spinning.

"Charlie just went out to talk to him. Maybe he – maybe he'll be able to help Ron," Hermione said, her brimming with tears that she was trying to keep in.

Harry shook his head. "Charlie's not going to help him. I just know it."

"Well he can't stay outside forever," Hermione said, feeling the tears leak out of the corners of her eyes.

"He won't," Harry said. He looked up at Hermione, "he needs you."

Hermione blinked, not wanting to hear what Harry had just said. "W-what?" she asked, sniffing.

"He needs you out there Hermione. You need to go and talk to him," Harry said, not taking his eyes off of her. Hermione refused to meet his gaze.

"He doesn't need me…" she said, wiping her eyes. She didn't know what was making her say this.

"You know that's not true. You know you're the only one who he would want to talk to," Harry said softly. Hermione shook her head. "What are you so afraid of?" he asked.

The bluntness of the question made Hermione finally look at Harry. What _was _she scared of? Why did she have such denial? Why did she no want to talk to Ron? And then the answer came to her.

"I'm scared," she said quietly, her small voice echoing in the silent house. "I'm scared to look at him and see all of the pieces. He's always been so brave and strong. I'm scared to see him broken. And I'm scared I won't be able to help him." By the time she had finished, she had broken down into hysterical sobs.

Harry got off of the sofa and gently put his hand on her knee. She knew he was doing this because he didn't know what he could possibly say to her. After a few moments, he got up and left the room. Alone, she sobbed so hard she felt lightheaded. She was aware that everyone in the other room could probably hear her, but she didn't care. She cried until she felt sick, until there were no tears left.

She got off the sofa and made her way into the living room. George had left, but Charlie was back, and had resumed George's pacing. Bill was missing too. Hermione looked at Ginny, who tilted her head at the window in the kitchen. From it Hermione could see Bill sitting with Ron.

Hermione nodded and sat down onto the nearest sofa. She knew eventually she would have to go outside, but now she was just contemplating what she would say.

Very little happened in the following hours. Different members of the Weasley family went outside to talk Ron, though they each came back looking dejected. Harry went outside again, and then a third time late in the afternoon to pull Ginny, who had gotten so angry with his lack of communication, off of Ron.

Dinner was a silent affair. Ron's chair, which was next to Hermione, was empty, though she felt her eyes drawn to it, and kept glancing to her left every few seconds. George hadn't shown either, though no one had been surprised.

After dinner, Mr. Weasley went out to talk to Ron again. When he came back, George came downstairs to talk to Ron, though he did not stay for long. When he came back inside, he went straight upstairs, not looking at anyone.

Mrs. Weasley looked out the kitchen window, her forehead furrowed in concern. "It's getting really late," she whispered to the silent room. "He really shouldn't be out there all night. And it looks like it's going to rain."

Harry, who was sitting across from Hermione in front of the empty fireplace, looked up at her. She met his glance and her stomach twisted into knots. She knew what she had to do.

She stood up shakily, steadying herself as the room began to spin. She was so nervous, she felt like she was going to faint. The Weasleys looked up at her expectantly; she was the only person who had not gone outside to see Ron.

She walked outside into the cool misty air. Mrs. Weasley was right; it was going to rain soon. The sun was quickly disappearing behind the trees. It sunk lower and lower behind the poles that they used to play Quidditch. Hermione's heart skipped as she thought of Fred.

As she walked toward Ron's who had not moved since the morning, random phrases formulated themselves in her mind. She had all the right things set clearly in the front of her mind, all of the words she needed to say.

She sat down next to him, bringing her knees up to her chest. She looked sideways at him, and everything she had decided she would say died in her throat. There was nothing she could say to fix what he was feeling. Even from his profile, she could tell that talking would heal nothing.

Then she realized what she had to do. She took a deep breath and looked out into the distance. She needed to wait for him.

After about ten minutes, the rain started, softly at first, and then picking up. Ron didn't register it, and Hermione didn't make any motion either. They just sat there in the rain, staring into nothingness.

Hermione wondered if there were people watching them, wondering what she was doing, wondering if it was a mistake sending her out here. Surely they thought she wasn't being helpful by sitting here in silence. But deep in her heart, Hermione knew that what she was doing was right.

She didn't know how long she had been sitting, but the rain had stopped, and her legs had started to cramp up. But she didn't move. She stayed sitting, watching the moon move through the sky.

At dawn, the sun began to peak through the trees. The sky was a pretty washed out pink. Hermione didn't think she had ever been this exhausted in her entire life, but she pushed it away. She would sit here all day if she had to.

"Why haven't you said anything?" the voice was small and cracked. But it was Ron's. Hearing it made Hermione's heart leap into her throat. She wanted to cry. _She had done the right thing_.

She turned to him, she allowed herself to see him. She was scared at first, but she understood now. No matter how sad Ron was, she had to see him, she couldn't shy away. His eyes were red from crying, and his face was pale. But it was his eyes that she was drawn to. They searched her like they had done over the newspaper back at Hogwarts. She looked into them and saw his sadness. And she vowed that she would help him, and stay with him until all of the pieces were put back together.

"I – I didn't think you wanted people saying empty words at you. I wanted y-you to be the one that talked first. I wanted to w-wait until you were ready." Hermione said, tears choking her up.

Something flickered in his expression, but Hermione could not read it. She wanted to touch him, hold any part of him, but she restrained herself. She didn't want to ruin everything.

But then she felt something at her hand. She looked down and saw his hand covering hers. She held on, desperate for the contact. She looked up at him and he smiled. It seemed foreign on his face, but genuine.

"They all must think I'm such a prat, sitting here outside," Ron said softly, jerking his head towards the Burrow. His smile had disappeared.

Hermione shook her head, "Ron, no. Everyone mourns differently. They understand," she said, squeezing his hand. He smiled slightly, but it was a ghost of a smile.

"I couldn't do it, I couldn't face them," Ron whispered. Hermione looked up at him. He glanced over at her, and she nodded encouragingly, so he continued. "I - I was right there. _Right there_. And it wasn't me. It could have been me who...who..." he stopped abruptly, wiping tears from his eyes with his free hands. Hermione had started crying too, but she didn't move to push them away.

"Ron - " she started, but she didn't know how to continue. Ron took a deep breath and started talking again.

"I couldn't look at my family because I was afraid they'd blame me. Because I blame me. I could... I could have..." again Ron's voice faltered. He hung his head, his shoulders shaking as he cried.

Hermione couldn't breath. She clutched his hand tighter, wanting more than anything to siphon all of his pain away, transfer it to herself. Each of Ron's words hit her like blades, painful and shocking.

"I just kept on thinking," Ron continued, "that I could have changed things, I could have helped him. All I can think of is that moment, and what could have happened, what I could have done. Maybe, if something had gone differently, Fred wouldn't have... he wouldn't be..." Ron stopped again, dropping Hermione's hand and burying his face in his hands.

Hermione let him cry for a few minutes before talking. "Ron, no one blames you. No one thinks that t-this is your fault, that y-you did anything. They don't blame you at all. Y-you have to believe me," Hermione cried, her tears flowing freely down her front. Ron looked up at the sound of her broken voice.

The two looked at each other for a few minutes, each registering each other's sadness. Unconciously, Hermione found herself holding on to Ron's hand again. In everything that had happened, this, his hand, was the one true, real thing in the world. They were now facing each other, the light from the early morning sun streaming on their faces. Hermione wanted to kiss him more than anything, but she pushed this thought far, far back in her mind. Right now, this was all they needed.

He dropped her hand and stood up. She followed him, watching his face for the next move. He smiled again and held his arm out. Hermione laughed, the sound of it echoing around them. She rushed into his arms and he held her close. It was so different than the hug Harry had given her. She felt his chin on her head, though he was taller and she didn't have to bend down. He was shaking, his sobs resonating in her ears. She held him close, wanting more than anything to absorb his pain so that he wouldn't have to feel it. She began to cry too, her tears running off her face and onto his shirt. He felt them, and he began to rub her back comfortingly. His sobs mixed with hers as together they mourned for Fred.

They stayed like that, embracing, for minutes on end. Time didn't seem to work; she had lost track in the sound of Ron breathing and the scent of him on his shirt. Slowly, he had stopped crying, and their embrace turned into something else. They moved closer together so that every part of them was touching on another. She couldn't breath; she was sure Ron would be able to feel her shaking under his arms. But then again, she could feel him shaking too. Hermione could feel his heart beating and smiled; it was beating just as fast as hers.

She would have stayed her forever if she could, but she could also hear his stomach growling. She realized he hadn't eaten in nearly two days. She looked up at him, her arms still wrapped around him and his arms wrapped around her.

"I could make you eggs or something," she suggested, smiling.

Ron laughed softly. "And I thought you couldn't be any more perfect," he said, wrapping one arm around her waist and heading toward the house. There were people in the window watching them.

As they made their way up to the house, Hermione tried to keep her heart under control and stop herself from screaming in happiness. She tried to pretend that what he had just said didn't matter as much as she wanted it to.

"_And I thought you couldn't be any more perfect_."

**A.N – I hope you all liked it. Reviews would be amazing! Chapter three should be here soon **


	3. The Funeral

**A.N. – Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who reviewed my story, you are all amazing! **

Chapter Three: The Funeral

The next morning arrived bright and sunny; a sign that summer was well on its way. However, the Burrow and the people inside acted as though oblivious to the upswing in the weather. Inside, it was as though heavy dark clouds enveloped everything. This morning was particularly horrible. It was the day of Fred's funeral.

The Weasleys had not taken his body with them when they had returned home, but had left him, with the others, at Hogwarts. He was being moved back to the Burrow today, where his funeral would be held. The family had decided on letting Fred rest at home near the Quidditch pitch. Hogwarts was an option, though it did not seem fitting for Fred, who had broken every known school rule and had dropped out before graduating, to be laid to rest there. George had decided this, it had been his decision entirely, but everyone else had agreed.

People began arriving late in the morning for the ceremony, which would start at one. Hermione watched from Ginny's bedroom window as the Weasley stood outside in a row, greeting their guests. She and Harry had decided to come down after the Weasleys. Although they were considered family, there were some lines that the two of them could not cross.

Even in the long line of redheads, Hermione could see Ron. He had been considerably better since she had gotten him to come inside. He was talking more, and had even eaten a little. He took every minute as it came, and Hermione was there with him, waiting.

There was a light tap on the door, Hermione walked across to open it, but it swung open, revealing Harry. He was wearing dark robes, with his hair combed back, though it threatened to break free and resume it usual messiness. He looked down at the floor when he addressed her, as if he could not bring himself to meet her eyes.

"Are you ready to go down?" he asked, meeting her gaze for a second before staring off into the distance at a point just beyond her left shoulder. Hermione nodded, adjusting the strap of her dress.

The walk outside was a silent one. The Burrow was empty; everyone was outside. Hermione had never known the house to be so quiet. It scared her, the silence. It was as if something else had died in here along with Fred.

When they reached the garden, Hermione was glad to be out of the house. She hugged Mrs. Weasley and Ginny, and shook hands with the other Weasleys. She paused when she got to Ron, who was last in the line. He looked up at her, and grasped her hand, not letting go. She moved out of the processions so as to not hold up the line. She stood beside Ron, and he tilted his head down to whisper something in her ear. She stood on tip toe to reach him.

"Don't leave me today, alright?" he whispered, his voice cracking. Hermione looked up at him and nodded, her stomach somersaulting. She stood in line with the rest of the Weasleys as people passed by them. Hermione no longer felt awkward standing with the rest of them; she was where she needed to be.

At one o' clock, people began sitting down under a tent which had been erected in the back yard. Hermione was uncomfortably reminded of Bill and Fleur's wedding. She looked at Ron. Perhaps he was feeling the same way; his face was twisted up in pain.

She and Ron took seats in the second row, next to Harry and Ginny who were also holding hands. A hush fell over the crowd as Bill, Charlie, Percy, and George walked down the middle isle, carrying a casket of pure gold. Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat. Until she had seen the casket, everything had seemed dream-like and unreal. Now it came crashing down on her. This was real, it was all happening.

Hermione thought Ron might be thinking the same thing; his hand was holding hers so tightly, her fingers were turning white with lack of blood. But she didn't move them or ask him to let go. The pain was real and in all of the sadness, it kept her grounded.

Hermione looked down their row. Harry had his head bowed, his hair partially obscuring his face. In his lap was Ginny's hand. Ginny was also crying, her tears falling on Harry's shoulder, where her head was rested. Ron was staring straight ahead, his face contorted with sadness. He was crying, the tears leaking from the corner of his eyes and running down his face. Hermione wanted to brush them away, but she stopped herself. She mimicked Harry and bowed her head, concentrating on the green grass at her feet and Ron's hand in hers.

A voice in front of them cleared his throat, but Hermione didn't bother looking up. Tears were running down her face too and falling in her lap.

"Fred Weasley was a lively, happy young man. He made a mark on everyone he met, and the impressions he made lasted," said a small wheezy voice. Hermione looked up, shocked. It was the small, white haired wizard who had presided over Dumbledore's funeral and Bill and Fleur's wedding. Hermione wondered if there was anyone else could possibly do these ceremonies. She glanced over and saw her shock mirrored on Harry's face as well. She bowed her head again, not wanting to look at the old man.

"Fred's untimely death has left all of us wondering why something so terrible can happen in this world. Why in a time that should be filled with celebration, we should need to mourn the people we lost. But we must all remember that Fred was brave. We must remember –"

"Stop," said a quiet, but carrying voice. Hermione looked up and saw George, who was seated directly in front of her, standing up. Everyone in the tent was staring at George, who was shaking slightly, but looked determined. Everyone watched as he walked up to the podium at the little old wizard. The man gave him a searching look, and then nodded. He stepped down from the podium and walked to the back of the tent. Now all eyes were on George.

Hermione had not given George a proper look since before the battle, as he had been closeted in his room since they had arrived at the Burrow. Now, she wished that she didn't have to; he looked awful. His face was drawn and white, his cheeks were almost sunken. His hair was matted down on one side; he had clearly not brushed it. There dark shadows under his eyes, making them look much deeper in his face than they were. But his eyes were the worst part. They were empty, closed. Everything that had lit them up was now gone, lying cold in a golden casket next to him. He surveyed the crowd wearily, his eyes stopping at his parents, who were directly in front of him.

"I'm sorry. I'm sure that that man can make beautiful speeches, but I wasn't very interested in listening to something a man who never knew my brother has to say," he said, addressing the crowd. Several people glanced at each other, wondering what was going to happen next.

"F-Fred was the best thing in m-my life," George said, tears glistening in his empty eyes. He brushed them away angrily, and took a deep breath. He started again, this time his eyes were dry and he was steadier. "Losing him has been…indescribable. I don't know how to put into words what it is like to lost someone you know so well. I guess it's like losing a part of you. Because a part of me was Fred and now I have to live without that part."

There were very few dry eyes in the tent now. Everyone's cries mixed together, resonating though the crowd like a storm. Hermione could feel Ron shaking next to her. She looked up at him and he moved closer to him, inching her chair nearer his. He wrapped his arms around her and she rested her head on his chest, which was already wet with his own tears. She added hers, and together they cried.

"Anyways, I stopped that little man from talking because it's not how I wanted to send Fred off. It would have been lovely, but I'm positive Fred didn't want lovely. So," he said, reaching into his pocket and taking something out, "I think we could do it better, I think we could do it the way he would have wanted."

He threw his arm into the air and instantly fireworks sounded. Several people, Hermione included, jumped, not expecting this. She looked up at Ron, wanting to see how he was registering this. To her surprise, he was smiling.

The fireworks moved through the tent, banging and sparkling. As Hermione watched, it all started to make sense to her. Fred would have never wanted a stuffy ceremony and crying. He would have wanted this: the fireworks, the jokes, the laughter. He would want to leave the world the way he had striven to make it: filled with happiness.

Lee Jordan had joined George at the front of the tent, and they began throwing more fireworks into the crowd. In front of Ron, Bill had stood up and vanished all of the chairs. People stood up, turning to each other in shock. Though there was still some sadness on their faces, Hermione saw a few smiles emerging. She saw Mrs. Weasley, who was clutching Mr. Weasley, looking around the tent, trying to grasp what was happening. Deep in her throat, she felt a laugh building up, and she let it out. It hung strangely in the air in front of her, and then disappeared with the sounds of the fireworks. People were all laughing now. Hermione looked over at Ginny who seemed unable to find which emotion suited her; she was laughing and also crying hysterically. Next to her, Harry was looking slightly pained. She watched as he and Ron exchanged looks over Hermione and Ginny's head. Then Harry broke out into a grin. She looked up at Ron again, and saw that he too was laughing. They ghostly smile she had seen before was gone; there was genuine happiness etched in his face.

The four of them reached the rest of the Weasley's who were gathered at the front of the tent. Hermione hung back, but Ron placed a reassuring arm on her shoulders and brought her with him. George was standing in the middle, looking apprehensive, as if fearing he would be rebuked for changing the funeral.

They all stood there in silence for a few minutes, looking at each other nervously, daring one of them to talk first. Then, Mrs. Weasley broke away from her husband and embraced George, who looked surprised but pleased. He patted her weakly on the back as she sobbed into his shoulder. When she finally released him, her face was wet with tears, but her eyes were dry.

"Thank you, George. Thank you for everything," she whispered, patting his cheek sloppily.

Hermione felt tears well up in her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. George looked around awkwardly at the rest of his family, who all stood grinning at him. After a few unbearably strained minutes he said, "Well, we better all get a move on or all of the best fireworks will be gone."

Everyone laughed appreciatively, and began dispersing. Ron took Hermione's hand and led her out of the tent, following Harry and Ginny. The four of them walked to the clearing where they have played Quidditch in previous summers. They sat down and watched people admire or play with the fireworks. Drinks were brought out, and food was served.

They sat there all afternoon, occasionally talking or getting up to get the rest of the group drinks of food. At around five, people began leaving. Ginny had moved to sit into Harry's lap, which Ron was pointedly ignoring. As the sky grew darker, they looked at one another and decided to go inside. Ginny led the way, followed by Harry and then Hermione. She had only walked a few steps when she noticed that Ron hadn't followed. She stopped walking and turned to look at him. He was standing looking out into the sunset, his hands in his pocket. Harry stopped too, looking at Hermione. She shook her head and motioned for him to follow Ginny, who had not stopped. He nodded and turned his back on them, following Ginny into the house.

Hermione walked back to Ron, looking up at him apprehensively.

"Ron?" she asked hesitantly, wishing that his hand wasn't in his pocket so she could hold it.

"What?" Ron asked, looking down at her as if he hadn't noticed she was there. When he did realize she was standing next to him, he smiled. "I was…I was just saying goodbye. You know, one last time."

The two of them eyes the new grave, which was not far away. Hermione nodded, but did not say anything. She cast a covert glance at his face, which was free of tears. She watched as Ron sighed and smiled softly. Then he turned to look at Hermione.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, taking his hand which was no free of his pocket. He looked down, smiled, and then looked back up at her.

"Yeah, I think I am," Ron said slowly, as if he was just coming to this conclusion. "Today was…it was what we needed, what he needed. It was the best – the best way for everything to happen."

Hermione smiled. She began walking up to the house, pulling Ron gently behind her. He began walking to, and then caught up to her. When they were about twenty feet from the house, he stopped walking again. Hermione turned around, concerned at what was about to happen.

"What is it?" she asked, searching his face for a clue as to what he was feeling. All she could see was nervousness, which didn't fit at all. "What's the matter?" she asked, stepping closer to him.

"It's just, I've been thinking…" he started, taking a step toward her. They were no extremely close. Hermione could have counted all of the freckles on his nose.

She looked up and gave him a questioning look. He swallowed, apparently unable to voice exactly what he was thinking. She parted her lips, about to ask what was wrong, but she never got the chance.

Ron bent his head and kissed her on the lips. Hermione's heart stopped and she kissed him back, his lips gently parting hers further. He wrapped her arms around her, which was a good thing. Her knees had become so weak she was scared she'd fall over. As they kissed, she moved her arms from around his neck and through his hair, as he ran his arms up and down her back.

And then, unbearably, it was over. Hermione would have wanted to continue forever, but they were both out of breath. Hermione could feel that her cheeks were warm, and she looked up at Ron, who was both pleased and pink-faced.

"I've been thinking about that," he whispered, kissing her forehead. She closed her eyes at his touch. Then she looked up and kissed him again, but it didn't last long. The back door banged open and they jumped apart as if shocked. They looked for the source of the noise, which was George, leaning out of the kitchen door.

"Come on you two, Mum says dinner's ready. And you know that you can't survive on a diet of each others spit, so break it up for five minutes and come and join us," George called, his grin barely concealed.

Hermione could feel herself turning redder; in the darkness she could see Ron's ears practically glowing scarlet. But as George surveyed them, Ron moved closer to Hermione, as if showing his older brother he could taunt them as much as he liked; it didn't bother him.

Hermione smiled at this gesture as they walked up to the house, as Ron muttered darkly under his breath. In the dark, his hand found hers and they walked into the house together. In the kitchen, they dropped hands but not in time. They were late for dinner; everyone was already gathered around the table and could clearly see them.

As they made their way to the two empty seats, unmercifully left at the opposite end of the table, Hermione saw George nudge Harry, whom he was sitting next to, and both gave the two knowing looks. Ron looked murderously at them, but said nothing; his mother was in the room watching them.

As they sat down, Hermione felt her cheeks, which could not be any redder. She looked at Ron, who, for as embarrassed as he looked, also seemed slightly proud of himself. Hermione grinned and found Ron's foot under the table. Throughout the meal, they knocked feet together playfully. Hermione could barely conceal her grin, and beside her, Ron looked to be having the same struggle.

As Mrs. Weasley removed their dinner plates and placed dessert bowls in front of each of them, Hermione was left to wonder in amazement how such a horrible day could have turned out so right.

**A.N. – As I was writing this, I noticed how unbearably sad it was, so I added some fluff at the end...and there will be more of that shortly :). I hope you all like it! Again, reviews would be amazing!!**


	4. Camping

**A.N. – Thank you so much for all of your amazing comments, they were great!! I hope everyone likes this chapter. **

Chapter 4:

After dinner, the family moved into the living room. Compared to the day before, where the room had remained silent and filled with sadness, tonight there was talking and laughter. It was softer and quieter, but it was there. In the middle of it all was George, who had decided to stay downstairs rather than return to his bedroom. He was quieter than the others, but his face had lost the crumpled, hopeless look. Hermione sat by the window in an armchair, next to Ron. In a chair, with Ginny sitting on its arm, was Harry. He was looking into the distance at a spot beyond Ron's head. Hermione wanted to ask him what he was thinking, but she thought it would be unkind to disturb him.

Ron, clearly bored, groaned and stretched. As an afterthought, he placed his arm around Hermione's shoulders. Ginny rolled her eyes and laughed. The loud sound seemed to wake Harry from his trance. He glanced over at Ron and Hermione and smirked.

"Smooth," he said sarcastically, his green eyes flickering from Ron's face to his arm around Hermione's shoulders.

Ron rolled his eyes, his ears turning pink, and extended his long leg to kick Harry in the shins. Harry's jaw dropped at he clutched his leg, milking the injury for what it was worth.

The four of them passed the next half hour in silence. Each one was clearly thinking, and the silence was not uncomfortable. After the long stretch, Ron, who had clearly reached the limit of time he allotted to deep thinking, suggested a game of chess. Hermione declined; she hated playing with him because it always resulted in her losing badly, followed by bickering when he teased her for losing. Harry, however, who also seemed to have given up thinking, agreed. Ginny and Hermione watched as Ron took out the chessboard from a nearby shelf and Harry conjured a table.

The game lasted over an hour, with much swearing by Harry and gloating by Ron, who won, of course. As they started the second game, with Harry vowing to finally win, Ginny sighed and got up.

"Hermione, I'm going to make a cup of tea. Want to join me?" she asked, looking down at the board game, where Ron's knight was now engaged in a furious ambush of Harry's bishop. Hermione winced as the tiny chess pieces flew everywhere and the knight's prey was wiped from the board. She had never liked wizard chess.

Hermione hesitated, not knowing exactly how she should answer. On one hand, she hated watching the two boys play, but on the other hand, she was quite content sitting in the armchair so close to Ron, with his arm wrapped around her. As Ron's knight took its second victim, she made up her mind. She couldn't watch this anymore. "Sure, I'd love to," she answered, moving to stand up. Ron removed his arm rather reluctantly, but gave her a smile as she left, which turned her face hot and pink.

She followed Ginny into the now empty kitchen. The dishes from dinner were being dried by a towel in midair at the counter. Ginny took a dry mug it had just finished drying and set it down by the stove. Hermione watched as she walked to the sink, filled the teapot with water, and then placed the teapot on the stove. With a flick of her wand, the stove ignited. Checking to make sure she had done it correctly, she paused for a moment before sitting down at the kitchen table. Hermione joined her there, pulling up the same chair she had sat in during dinner.

"I'm sorry, but I couldn't stand another minute of that game, it really was never my thing. And besides, I don't like being around Ron when he's winning," Ginny said smiling.

Hermione laughed; she knew what Ginny meant, even if her feelings towards Ron were slightly less harsh.

The two sat in silence. Although Hermione had visited the Burrow for many summers, and had grown very close to Ginny, she didn't know what to say next. Would Ginny want to know what had happened in the months that the three of them had disappeared? Would she even ask Hermione, or go to Harry? Hermione glanced at Ginny, who was staring into the living room where the rest of the family was. A loud, victorious shout filled the room and filled the kitchen: Ron had clearly just won again. Hermione smiled to herself. Looking up, she saw Ginny looking at her.

"So, you two are really together now?" she asked Hermione, calculating the look on Hermione's face. Hermione found herself growing red again.

"Yeah…we are," Hermione answered slowly, thinking of their kiss earlier that night. If they weren't together after kissing like that, she didn't know what it would take.

"Wow, well congratulations. I'm not going to lie, I did have my doubts," Ginny smiled, getting up as the kettle started to whistle. Hermione took this opportunity to glance back into the living room (her back was to the open door) and catch Ron's eye. He smiled at her again and she felt all sensation leave her hands.

Ginny sat back down again and Hermione whipped back around. "You and Harry are back together then, I take it?" Hermione said unnecessarily. She knew they were, but she wanted to take the conversation off of herself and Ron.

Ginny smiled broadly. "Yes, we are. I'm so happy too, it was so hard this year, with everything going on and you three…" her voice died before she could continue the sentence, but Hermione nodded understandingly. She understood Ginny's feeling of not knowing, of hoping with all of your heart that the person you were missing was okay, even though you had no way of knowing if they were or not. It was how she felt every day after Ron had left them that night in the tent. She shook her head, trying to rid herself of those memories. She was happy now; there was no need to dwell in the past.

"Hermione," Ginny said, calling her back into the Weasley's kitchen.

"I'm sorry," she said, giving Ginny an apologetic smile. But Ginny was not looking at Hermione. She was playing with the rim of her mug, and clearly contemplating something. Hermione let her think, not wanting to interrupt her.

After a few minutes of silence, Ginny looked up. Hermione was sure that she was going to ask her a question about what they had done, or what they had gone through. But the look on Ginny's face told her otherwise. Ginny looked embarrassed.

"Erm, Hermione? Could I ask you a favor?" Ginny said quietly. Hermione gave Ginny a searching look, wondering what on earth could possibly be coming next.

"Of course, what it is?" she asked apprehensively.

"Could…could you find a different place to sleep tonight?" Ginny said quickly, as if saying it faster would make it less unpleasant.

Hermione was taken aback. Out of all the things she thought Ginny might ask her, this certainly was not in the front of her mind. Immediately she wondered if she had done something wrong, if she had said something to offend Ginny. But this thought she cast aside quickly. Ginny did not seem angry with her, and it was easy to tell when Ginny was angry; she didn't hide her feelings well. She wondered if going out with Ron had something to do with it. Maybe it was too uncomfortable for Ginny to share a room with the girl who had kissed her older brother. Hermione moved uncomfortably in her chair. She thought the latter might be the reason.

"Yes, of course," Hermione breathed, not looking at Ginny. She wasn't sure if she would be able to meet her eyes.

She could feel Ginny watching her, and she felt her skin burn under her gaze. She was about to excuse herself when Ginny spoke.

"Oh, Hermione! You don't think I'm asking you to leave because it's embarrassing share the same room with you, do you?" she asked. Hermione looked up. Her answer would have been yes, but clearly, this was wrong.

"Well, yes, I did. And I can understand…" Hermione said, but Ginny cut her off.

"Hermione, that's not it at all! Really, it's not like that!" Ginny exclaimed, sending her tea mug, which was luckily empty, skidding down the table. It hit the floor with a crack and broke. Hermione took out her wand and repaired it hastily. Relief flooded her brain. So she wasn't the reason for Ginny kicking her out. But as pleased as she felt, this only confused her more.

"Then why…" she started, looking at Ginny questioningly.

Now it was Ginny's turn to burn a bright, boiling scarlet. She began to talk just as Hermione was fitting everything back together. "Well, Harry was going to come to my room tonight, and I thought…I didn't think you'd want…" she broke off.

Hermione understood at once, and she blushed a little as well. "Oh, right, of course. Don't worry, I'll find somewhere else to sleep, no problem."

Ginny gave her a grateful look, "Thank you so much, I knew you'd understand."

Hermione smiled graciously, "It's really no problem at all. Just don't let Ron see you two; he might be forgiving when he sees you kissing, but if he walked in on you in the morning or something…"

"Oh, he's not staying the night," Ginny said quickly, now getting up and walking over to the sink to wash her empty mug.

Sounds from the other room told the two girls that everyone was getting up to go to bed. Ginny gave Hermione a fleeting, excited look and walked to Harry, who was waiting for her on the staircase. Hermione could hear Ginny's laughter as it floated down from the second floor.

A disapproving grunt came from somewhere behind her, and Hermione turned around to find Ron. He was staring at the ceiling above them, where Ginny's bedroom was, with a very angry look on his face.

Hermione reached out at touched his hand. At the contact, he looked down at her, his face completely changed.

"Don't worry about them, I've just talked to Ginny," Hermione reassured him. Ron did not look like he entirely believed her, but he dropped the conversation and looked down at their intertwined hands. Clearly, his mind was now on something else.

"Yeah…" he said vaguely, filling the silence between them. He pulled her close to him and bent down to kiss her. Hermione could feel her heart beating in her ears and she moved closer too.

"Hold it, not so fast," said a voice from the doorway. They both spun around to see Mr. Weasley, holding an empty mug, and looking both exasperated and amused. Ron didn't move away instantly, and Hermione too backed away rather reluctantly.

"I won't tell anyone, just let me put this in the sink and you two can…" he broke off awkwardly, not knowing how to end the sentence, or what words properly fit.

When they were at last alone together, Hermione looked at Ron, whose ears had turned pink again. She smiled and moved closer to him. He wrapped his arms around her, and this time, she leaned in and kissed him. They fit together perfectly, their lips meeting in the middle. She felt the familiar shiver of happiness run through her as she felt Ron run his fingers through her hair. She moved her hands from her sides to the front of Ron's shirt. She could feel him shake with excitement.

When they broke away, they remained close, staring into each other's face. Hermione thought she could look at his face for eternity, memorize every beautiful part of it. Ron smiled and kissed her again, and she allowed herself to get lost in the smell of his hair and the feel of his large, strong hands on her back and in her hair.

When they broke away, Hermione couldn't breathe. She glanced outside, where the darkness consumed the garden and all that was beyond.

"I was thinking about sleeping outside tonight," she said. She wasn't sure how she would tell him this without letting him know that his best friend was currently in his younger sister's bedroom.

Ron furrowed his eyebrows. "Really? Why aren't you sleeping in Ginny's room?" he asked, running his hand along her bare arm. She wished he wouldn't; it was preventing her from concentrating.

"Well, I thought Ginny might want some privacy after…everything. And it's a beautiful night out," she said. It wasn't completely a lie, even if it wasn't the complete truth either.

"So you're just going to take a sleeping bag out there and sleep in the grass?" Ron asked incredulously.

Hermione laughed, "No, I was going to set up the tent. Bill gave us one after we lost the old one, remember?" she said. It seemed impossible that this had only been a few days ago; it seemed like years.

Ron nodded, "Yeah, we never used it though, might be interesting to have a look around."

Hermione nodded, but thoughts were leaping around in her head. Ron was going to go into the tent with her. What if he decided to stay the night, what if they stayed in the tent together? Hermione felt her fingers tingling with excitement, but she didn't let her imagination run too wild.

Hermione walked outside into the dark garden, Ron following closely behind. She took out the beaded bag she had carried all year and groped around for the tent. When she finally managed to locate it, she pulled it out with difficulty. Ron hastened to help her, and together they yanked it out. With a sweep of her wand, Hermione erected the tent, which seemed considerably smaller on the outside than their other tent had been. They stood side by side looking at it for a moment, then Ron said, "Well, after you."

Hermione bowed down and entered the flap in the opening of the tent. Once inside, she stood up and looked around. It looked very much like Shell Cottage. It was light and airy, filled with light blues and sea foam greens. In one corner was a large mattress with a white down filled comforter. Hermione was so tired, she wanted nothing more than to lie down in the inviting blanket and fall asleep.

Ron, however, who had just entered behind her, had different ideas. "Whoa, this one is nice. Let's have a look, shall we?" he asked excitedly.

They walked around the tent, which was smaller than the other tent by far. Next to the bedroom was a small kitchen, and in the front of the tent was the sitting room. Ron sat down in one of the armchairs and nodded approvingly. Hermione laughed and sat down on the bed. It was so comfortable; she couldn't stop herself from lying back down. She sighed in content. The excitement of the tent had chased away the exhaustion. The close proximity of Ron, and the fact that they were completely alone, helped as well.

She felt the mattress depress a little as Ron sat down as well. She looked up at him, and he lay down. They were lying next to each other on their backs on the mattress, looking up at the ceiling. Hermione felt Ron's arm next to her, and felt his hand slip into hers. Ron placed one arm behind his head and sighed. Hermione felt her heart beat loudly in chest, loud enough, surely, for Ron to hear.

Someone in the Burrow turned off lights, so the tent darkened. Hermione looked around, not knowing where there was a light switch. "Relax, I've got it," came Ron's voice from the darkness. With a familiar click, he released light into the tent from the silver cigarette lighter Dumbledore had given him. "I turned the lights off in my room earlier with this, so it's from my lamp."

Hermione watched as he played with it, running his hands along the decorative marks that had been carved into it. She could feel the conversation that was about to come, and she waited anxiously for it.

"He was a genius, giving me this," Ron said softly, obviously indicating the lighter in his hands.

Hermione rolled onto her stomach and put her chin on her hands, watching Ron. There was so much on his face she couldn't tell exactly what he was thinking.

"Yeah, he was," Hermione said softly. She watched as Ron pocketed the lighter and sat up. She mimicked him and sat up as well, so they were sitting facing each other on the bed.

"So it was really a portkey?" Hermione asked, indicating the object Ron had just put in his pocket.

Ron tilted his head, thinking. "I don't know. I'm not sure exactly how it works," he said slowly. "I mean all other times it just sucks up light. I don't know why it was a portkey that one time."

The two sat in silence, contemplating the object. Hermione had so many thoughts whirring through her head, so many different theories and so many different ideas that it was hard to place one of them into words. "Do you remember the Mirror of Erised?" she asked, following one of her many theories.

Ron looked up at her, confused. "That mad mirror that made you see what you wanted," he asked.

Hermione nodded. "Well, maybe it worked like that. Maybe it realized that you wanted something terribly, so it gave you your heart's desire. It brought you back to our tent."

Ron smiled slowly, and moved a little closer to Hermione. "That's a brilliant theory Hermione, but you made a small mistake."

Hermione's heart was speeding up. Her brain felt fuzzy again as he came closer. She felt the familiar sensation of every nerve in her body freezing. "What?" she asked softly.

Ron paused inches away from her. "That lighter didn't lead me to the tent because going back was my heart's desire. It let me to the tent because you were there. You were – are – my heart's desire." Hermione's heart, which was beating unnaturally fast, came to a sudden stop.

Hermione didn't even have time to smile. Ron leaned in and their lips touched. This time, there was a palpable tension between them, which might have to do with the two of them being on a bed. She felt his hands running up her back and reaching her hair as she wrapped her around his neck. As they embraced, she felt him part her lips and her spine tingled with excitement.

This time, with none of Ron's family to interrupt them, they kissed for a long time. When they finally broke away they were both racing for breath. When they had gotten enough oxygen, they met in the middle again.

When they stopped kissing, they sat there on the bed barely an inch away from each other, both looking dazed and happy. Hermione felt so numb she was surprised she was still sitting. As the world spun around her, she smiled at Ron, who grinned back, running one of his large hands through her hair.

They sat there in the half-dark for a long time, take each other in. Hermione didn't know what was supposed to happen next, and she did not care. All that she knew in the world was that there was nothing left to run from, and that everything she ever wanted was right here in front of her.

**A.N. – I'm not sure how I feel about this one…it definitely took a different turn than what I had planned, and it's much longer than I would have thought. I would love to hear what you guys think if anyone has a chance! **


	5. Quidditch and Adventures

**A.N. – Hi everyone! Thank you all to everyone who commented, they were all so wonderful to read! It means a lot to me ****. I hope you all like the new chapter!**

Chapter Five:

Hermione woke the next morning as the sun streamed across her face. At first, she kept her eyes closed, allowing herself to wake up fully. Then, something in very close proximity to her snored, and her eyes snapped open.

She was lying on the bed in the tent, but she was not alone. Ron was next to her still fast asleep; he had clearly been here the whole night. She tried to get up and out of the bed, but she couldn't. Ron had his arms wrapped tightly around her. Her hands felt stiff. She looked down and saw, to her immense embarrassment, that both of her hands were clutching at Ron's shirt. She felt his foot move, and discovered that their legs were tangled together. Their bodies were pressed completely against each other; there was no part of Hermione's front that wasn't touching Ron's. Ron groaned again, and pulled Hermione, if possible, even closer to him. She sighed and inhaled, the smell of Ron filling her up like a hot drink. She realized that there was nothing left to do but wait for him to wake up. Although she didn't mind in the slightest lying here in his arms, she did not look forward to the moment he woke up, and realized exactly what position he was in.

It turned out Hermione did not have long to anticipate this moment. Within five minutes, Ron began to stir. Wrapped and held so tightly against to him, Hermione had no choice to move with him. She held her breath and hoped that he did not role onto his back, because then she would find herself directly on top of him.

Ron groaned and Hermione watched as he opened his eyes. She saw him glance down at her, then blink very rapidly. Then, he looked back at her, his eyes wide.

"This – this isn't a dream?" he asked her, his voice hoarse from sleep.

Hermione smiled and laughed softly. "No, it's not a dream, this is real," as she said this, she realized she hadn't let go of Ron's shirt; she was still holding on flirtatiously. She also noticed that he had not let go of her either. They stared at each other for a few moments, and then Ron grinned.

"Thank God. If I had been dreaming this then I have no idea what I would do. Thank God this is real." He tilted his head forward and kissed Hermione on the forehead. Once again, she closed his eyes at his touch. She could not believe that this was actually happening.

Ron stretched and yawned. Hermione sat up, pretending that she didn't mind that he had let go of her. She opened and closed her hands, letting them finally relax. They sat in the bed together, neither one knowing how to start the conversation.

"I don't remember falling asleep," Ron mumbled. Hermione nodded in agreement. The last thing she remembered was kissing Ron, though they had definitely been sitting up at this point. She supposed they had both, out of complete exhaustion, fallen asleep without really knowing what they were doing.

Hermione flexed her toes and pushed the blanket off of her. Ron made to do the same, but as she got out of bed and lifted her arms to stretch, a part of her bare stomach and lower back was exposed. Ron leapt back into the bed, making sure the covers were securely around his waist.

Hermione bit her lip, trying not to notice or smile. She walked into the kitchen to fix herself some tea and allow Ron time to compose himself. She was trying taking mugs out of the cupboard when she felt him behind her. He kissed the back of her neck sweetly, and then reached the top shelf and taking two mugs. She gave him a look of mock anger.

"I could have gotten those you know," she told him, taking the mugs from him, her smile giving her away. He laughed and sat in a chair at the kitchen table. Hermione could feel his eyes on her as she poured them both steaming water and added the teabags.

"So how do we manage this?" Ron asked, accepting the cup of tea she handed him.

She gave him a questioning look, which he replied with jerking his head to the left, in the direction of the Burrow. She understood immediately. "Oh, er…I don't know. Everyone is already awake by now, I'm sure. I suppose my best option is to Apparate into a bathroom or something, hoping no one is in there, and you make up a story about taking a walk or something," she said hopelessly, because the story she was weaving was extremely far fetched.

"And this tent sitting in the middle of my lawn – that's a new decorative piece, right?" Ron joked.

Hermione groaned. She had forgotten temporarily that they were currently sitting in a tent. She looked around the bright little room as if hoping a good story would come down and plant itself in her brain. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

"How about this," Ron began. "I tell everyone I woke up early and came to get you, because breakfast is ready. No one knows I wasn't in my room last night," Ron said, but Hermione shook her head.

"You would have been seen coming down here, wouldn't you? And besides," she added, smiling, "I don't think anyone will believe you woke up early." Ron laughed and playfully pushed her knee.

"Well then, what do we say?" when Ron had finished nudging her and she had finished pushing him back. "I can't think of any good stories."

But they were spared the trouble of having to make up anything else. There was laughter coming from the outside of the tent. Hermione froze and looked at Ron, who looked nervous. She swallowed and stood up. If there were people outside, then there was no use, they would have to leave now, they had been caught. Ron gave Hermione a look of determination and stood up as well.

She moved to the mouth of the tent and opened the flap. Ron caught her hand as she did so, and she smiled at the feel of it. When she stepped out, she was stunned by the dazzling morning sun that caught her in the face and poked her hard in both eyes, making them water. When she was done blinking, she found herself standing face to face with Ginny. A little ways behind her stood Harry. Ron was still inside of the tent, waiting for her to come out so that he could follow.

"Oh, Ginny," Hermione said, surprised. "Good morning."

Ginny smiled. "Good morning. We just came out to wake you up, breakfast is almost ready."

Hermione blinked. "I – I heard you laughing…" she said vaguely.

Ginny frowned, then seem to remember. "Oh, that was nothing. Harry had just said something. I'm sorry if I woke you up," she said, looking concerned.

Hermione shook her head. So they did not know that Ron was in there with her. Her laughter had nothing to do with catching the two of them playing house in the middle of the backyard. She wondered if there was any way to relay that message without arising suspicion.

"Hermione, have you seen Ron? We checked his room but he wasn't –" Ginny started, but she stopped before the sentence was finished.

Ron, most unfortunately, had chosen that moment to playfully nudge Hermione in the ribs and say loudly, "Oi, what's the hold up? I'm _really_ hungry, Hermione." And he stepped out of the tent and wrapped an arm around Hermione's waist.

Hermione watched in horror the scene unfold in front of her. Harry, who had been scratching his head absentmindedly, froze, his hand perched absurdly on the top of his head. Ginny's mouth was hanging wide open, as her eyes swiveled from Hermione to Ron and then back again. Ron swore quietly under his breath as he registered what had just happened. Hermione found herself inexplicably holding her breath, waiting for something, anything, to break this horribly awkward moment.

The moment was shattered as Mrs. Weasley called out from the open kitchen window, "Ginny, did you wake up Hermione yet? We really should start to eat; your father has to leave for work soon."

"Yeah, Mum, I woke her up. We'll be there in a moment," she said, her voice very flat, her eyes still focused on the pair in front of her. Hermione could not read the expression that was on her face.

"Well," said Harry, taking a step forward toward the three of them. "This was…uncomfortable. Shall we go inside, then?" he said, catching Hermione's eye and then looking away. Hermione wished he hadn't looked away, she wanted to know what he was thinking, and that was impossible to do when he refused to look at her.

Ron cleared his throat. "Yeah, that – that sounds like a good idea. Let's go in, I'm hungry."

Ginny was the first to move. She turned and walked back up to the house without another look at the three of them. Harry was left with Ron and Hermione, a position, Hermione could tell from his expression, he did not want to be in. Hermione walked forward a step, then turned to see if the other two were following.

"Er, you go Hermione," Harry said. "I wanted to say something to Ron, if you don't mind."

Hermione shook her head and looked at Ron who, judging by his confused expression, had no idea what was coming next. She turned and, like Ginny, she walked into the house without looking back. But she strained her ears to hear what he was saying. Everything sounded calm; at least he wasn't yelling at Ron.

She walked into the kitchen with her head bowed down, eager to avoid all eye contact with the Weasleys. She sat down in the first empty chair her downcast eyes saw. When she looked up, she wished she had taken a different chair; this one was next to Ginny. Ginny continued to serve herself bacon; she completely ignored Hermione's presence. Hermione held her breath, not knowing if this was a good sign or not.

They passed the next minute in silence. Then, Ginny asked to be excused. Hermione watched her go, and as Ginny did, she caught Hermione's eyes and gave her a meaningful look. Hermione took this as that she was meant to follow. She excused herself as well and retraced Ginny's steps. She found her on the landing, waiting for Hermione.

"I'm not angry at you, you know," Ginny said when Hermione had reached her. Hermione was so taken aback she almost fell backwards and tumbled down the rickety stairs. She grabbed the railing and held on to steady herself.

"You – you're not?" she asked uncertainly. Ginny shook her head, smiling.

"No, that's why I wanted you to come here, so I could tell you…you looked so worried. How could I be angry when I'm so happy?" she said, her voice raising a little. "I told you Harry was coming last night, didn't I? Well, it was amazing… I don't think I could ever be angry again," she said, grinning broadly.

Hermione gasped, "Did you…" she started, but Ginny shook her head violently. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She was glad Ginny had nothing to tell her, she didn't know how she would react.

"So…Ron spent the night in that tent, did he?" Ginny said, eyeing Hermione who, in the dim light of the staircase, was sure she had turned a noticeably shade of red. She nodded, unable to say anything. Her thoughts brought her back to the position she had woken up in, and she felt her cheeks grow even warmer. She looked up and saw Ginny smiling.

"Come on, lets go back to the table or mum will send someone to see what happened." Ginny said, leading the way down the stairs and back into the kitchen. When they say down, Hermione noticed that Harry and Ron had entered the kitchen and had sat down in seats opposite Ginny and Hermione. Hermione caught Ron's eye over the table and he gave her a reassuring smile. Hermione sighed in relief; Harry wasn't angry either. She felt Ron's foot under the table brush gently against her, and it was all she could do to keep from exclaiming out loud.

After a breakfast full of talking and laughter, and Ron's feet constantly brushing up against hers, the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione got up as Mrs. Weasley waved her wand to clear the dishes. Mr. Weasley, Charlie, Bill, and Percy all departed for work, George went back upstairs, and Fleur and Mrs. Weasley chatted over the breakfast dishes that were cleaning themselves in the sink.

"Game of Quidditch, anyone?" Harry suggested to the four of them, the only ones left at the table. Hermione caught Ron's eye again and he shrugged. She looked at Harry and nodded. There was nothing really for them to do. Now that summer had started and there were no Dark wizards to chase after them, each day seemed to spread out impossibly long and lazily in front of them.

They walked to the pitch together, each one enjoying the feel of the cool summery air on their faces. Ron walked close to Hermione so that their shoulders bumped together more times than usual. Once glance at Ron's grinning face told her that this was entirely intentional.

Hermione was the only one without a broom, so she borrowed an old one that was sitting in the shed. It looked moldy and very unlikely to be aerodynamic. Ron saw her looks of doubt and gave her a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry, it's tougher than it looks. But if you'd like, we can switch and you can use my broom."

Hermione beamed at the sweet gesture, but declined. The fact that he had offered to switch was enough for her. They walked out of the dark shed together and met Ginny and Harry, the latter of whom was shooting them suspicious looks. Ron rolled his eyes and shook his head, and Harry immediately became more cordial.

Hermione, who was awful at Quidditch, was paired with Harry, who was the best. Ginny and Ron, who were both good, were paired together. Hermione was not completely pleased; she would have liked to play with Ron, but she had bigger things to worry about. The moldering piece of wood she was holding would soon be suspending her feet from the ground. That alone was the largest of her worries.

As the others took off mounted with confidence, Hermione straddled her broom with anxiety, looking up at the three figures high above her head.

"Come on Hermione, you can do it," Ginny called down to her. Hermione felt her face redden; she wasn't used to being the last one to do things.

Ron flew back down to the ground. "I have a different idea. How about you two play against us two?" Hermione felt her heart begin to beat unnaturally fast.

He stopped in front of her and took the broomstick out of her hands. "Here," he said gently, "come onto the back of mine, it won't be as scary." Hermione wanted to kiss him right then and there. The tenderness in his voice made her heart speed up even more. She looked up and her eyes found his. The blue of them seemed to burn a hole in her heart. She nodded and climbed onto the end of his broomstick.

"Ready?" he called to her over his shoulder. She nodded, too scared to make a noise. He pushed off hard on the ground and they rocketed upward into the air. Hermione wrapped her arms around Ron's chest, and she could almost feel the happiness he felt. She let out an involuntary scream as they flew upward. Ginny laughed as they met the two of them thirty feet in the air. Harry gave them a questioning look.

"How on earth are we going to play if two of you are on _one_ broom?" Harry asked, looking between them as Ginny continued laughing.

"Don't worry about it," Ron said, looking back at Hermione and smiling. She tried to return it, but now the fear, mixed with the jittery feelings that came with being so close to Ron, completely enveloped her and she was unable to say or do anything at all.

It was quite a sight, playing two-a-side Quidditch when one of the teams flew on only one broom. After some time in the air, Hermione allowed herself to relax a little and let go of Ron. However, the extra pair of arms did very little, as they were only able to move in one direction.

Ginny and Harry were easily beating them, but none of them really cared, and the score was long forgotten. Their laughter and friendly jeers ripped through the air as they tossed the apples back and forth to one another. Hermione caught one, the smallest of them, and threw at one of the hoops erected between the trees. She let out a gasp from what she could tell it would meet its target.

Everyone froze to watch the apple soar cleanly through the post, no one moving to catch it. It fell to the ground and splattered rather unpleasantly, but no one took any notice.

"Hermione, you scored one!" Ginny cried, grinning at her and forgetting that she was the opposition. Harry laughed and cheered as well, all competition forgotten.

Hermione shrieked with happiness. She was completely comfortable in a classroom, where the right answers and proper responses were always in reach. But here, up in the air, she rarely ever did anything right. The goal, that small accomplishment, made her feel inexplicably happy.

Ron laughed and swung his long legs around on the broom. Hermione screamed as they fell several feet, but Ron regained his balance and they shot upward again. He was flying backward, his back to the sky as he faced Hermione. He looked over his shoulder and pointed the broom up, so that the rocketed into the sky, passing Harry and then Ginny. When they were a good twenty feet above them, Ron kissed Hermione. The thrill of this, of kissing him fifty feet in the air, drummed a loud tattoo against her ears. She let go of the broom and held onto Ron, who had one arm around her and one arm holding the broom steady. They groped at each other more passionately, the adrenaline from the game impacting their emotions. Hermione's mind went curiously blank as she let herself get swept away in his kiss.

"Oi, break it up! That's fraternization, and it's illegal!" Harry called good naturedly from Hermione's left. They broke apart and saw that Harry and Ginny had joined them, bobbing on either side of them, looking happy, annoyed, and slightly embarrassed all at the same time.

"Oh, shut up," Ron yelled back, laughing. He leaned in to kiss Hermione again, but it was shorter; Ginny swooped in close so that Hermione shrieked again and the two were forced apart.

"Should we call it a game then?" Harry asked to the group as Ron shifted his legs over the thin piece of wood so that he was facing the right way again. They fell several feet again, only this time Hermione did not scream.

The others agreed, and they returned to the ground. Hermione was glad to have both feet firmly on the grass, even if the game had been more fun than she had anticipated. They returned the brooms to the shed and headed back to the Burrow, where they were sure Mrs. Weasley had prepared lunch for them. Hermione took note of how nice it was to have meals prepared you, to have food unquestioningly set out, there was no doubt that they would be eating three times a day. She remembered the past months, where they would go days on end without eating. She shuddered, trying to push those things out of her mind for now.

After a lunch full of laughing voices, everyone went their separate ways again. Ginny went to take a nap, and Hermione smiled inwardly, knowing why she was so tired. Harry went to Ron's room to change his shirt, which was splattered with mud. Ron went upstairs to change to, and Hermione decided to take a walk.

She thanked Mrs. Weasley for the meal, and then walked out of the back door, shutting it behind her. She walked past her tent, which she had not taken down; she did not know if she would be sleeping in it tonight. Her stomach lurched as she wondered if Ron would be sleeping in it with her again tonight.

She reached the end of the Weasley's property, which was partitioned by an old, paint chipped fence. She walked along the line of the property, allowing her mind to fill with mindless things, like the sound of Ron's laugh in her ear when they were flying, and the feel of his shirt in her hands when she had woken up.

"Penny for your thoughts, or would it be best if I were left ignorant?" said a voice behind her. Hermione turned around and saw Harry, now in a clean, mud-free shirt, standing behind her.

"Oh, Harry, I didn't hear you," she said, taken aback.

He walked toward her, so that they were standing next to each other in front of the gate. There was really nothing remotely interesting in front of them, but they stood there and gazed at the horizon anyways. They stood there for a few minutes in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. It was a comfortable silence; all of the awkwardness from the morning at the tent had vanished. Hermione wondered briefly what Harry had told Ron.

"It's strange, isn't it?" Harry asked as the silence stretched on.

Hermione turned to him and furrowed her eyebrows. "What's strange?" she asked, putting her hands on the rickety old fence. Harry turned slightly so that he was looking at her.

"Not having to run from anything, not having to plan the next move, the next escape. It's strange just sitting here, and the fact that I _can_ sit here; there's nothing urgent that needs to be done. I don't know…it's just feels so different, not having to worry anymore."

Hermione laughed, but it wasn't a completely happy laugh. She knew what Harry was feeling. "I know what you mean. Sometimes, I'll start panicking for sitting still for ten minutes, and then I realize I have nothing urgent that I need to do," she admitted.

Harry nodded, "Exactly. I've pictured this, the end of the road, for so long, I didn't realize that once I got here I'd have to think of something else to do…and I didn't think I'd get here so fast."

Hermione smiled sadly. "The road hasn't ended for me," she whispered, clutching the wooden fence, feeling the rough wood scratch her palms. "I have to go to Australia and get my parents, remember?" she added softly.

Harry moved closer to her and put his hand on top of hers. His hand was smaller than Ron's and the feeling was different too. Her heart did not speed up, and her legs did not feel as though they would collapse. Hermione closed her eyes and let the reassurance of his hand on hers fill her up.

"We're coming with you, Hermione. Me and Ron, you know we'll be there." Harry said quietly.

Hermione's eyes snapped open. "What do you mean? You want to come with me?" asked incredulously. "Harry, we just got back from almost a year of running around. Now, you're finally in a place where you two can stay put. You two don't have to come with me, I don't want to make you do that," Hermione said, her hand twitching slightly under his.

Harry smiled. "We both knew you'd say that. That's what we were talking about this morning among…other things," he said, pausing slightly and clearing his throat uncomfortably. Hermione bit her lip; apparently the morning had not been completely erased from his mind. "Anyways," he continued, "we decided we want to come with you. We know it won't be easy for you, and we want to be with you. And besides," he paused, smiling, "we're not really the type of people who like staying put."

Hermione smiled widely and hugged Harry. He put his arms around her and hugged her back. She did not know exactly what to say after he had made that little speech; she was not sure she would be able to convey what she was feeling into words. Harry seemed to recognize this, and he squeezed her tightly. She laughed and let go. He smiled back at her and motioned back to the house, and they began to walk back to the Burrow together.

"So, what do we do now?" Hermione asked, a well-known sense of thrill consuming her. Their new adventure was like an old friend, familiar and welcome.

Harry smiled at her, "Well, the three of us have got to get together and start planning, don't we? We're going to Australia."

**A.N. – I don't know but these keep on getting longer and longer. Comments/review would be amazing…I'd love to know what everyone is thinking!**


	6. Plans

Chapter Six:

It was as though they were on the run and searching for Horcruxes again. The next two days saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione closeted together on the floor of Hermione's tent in the backyard. The tent had been proven extremely useful: they were out of earshot of Mrs. Weasley and, though it remained unspoken, Ginny. She had not been included in their plans to go to Australia, and although Hermione had hinted at this, Harry had quickly changed the topic of conversation many times. Spread on the floor of the tent were maps and pages of notes, all written in Hermione's careful script. The plans for Australia were slightly different than the plans they had made to infiltrate the ministry and Gringotts; there was less of a threat now.

Hermione had been sleeping in the tent ever since Ginny had asked her two nights before. Harry's nighttime visits had become somewhat of a routine. Ron had not discovered his best friend's nighttime adventures into his younger sister's room, though Hermione thought it was only a matter of time before he did. Harry was sneaking out of the attic bedroom he shared with Ron once Ron was properly asleep. Much to Hermione's reluctant disappointment, Ron had been sleeping in his own room, and had not come to visit her again in her tent.

On the second day of their planning sessions, a light rain had picked up, beating a calming rhythm on the canvas of the tent. Hermione listened to it as Harry and Ron discussed traveling options. She had let herself get lost in the sounds surrounding her for a few minutes, forgetting exactly where she was.

It was not the first time this had happened. She had been unable to focus ever since they started planning their trip to Australia. It felt so surreal; she was finally going to be able to talk to her parents again. When she had wiped their memories and implanted fake ones, she had not really thought of a time when she would be lifting the curse. She thought this had been wishful thinking; focusing on the end before the beginning had even started. She was scared that if she thought too much about finding her parents, she would somehow jinx herself and something would happen to her. Now, she was perfectly safe and could find her parents. The anticipation and fear of what would happen when they realized what she had done mixed in her brain and impaired her focus.

"Hermione?" Harry asked, bringing her back down to earth. Hermione shook her head, trying to rid herself of the image that was forming in her head: her parents were yelling at her for ruining their lives as she sat in front of them, crying.

"Are you okay?" Ron asked, looking at her concernedly. "You've been sort of out of it all day, is something the matter?" The look of care in his eyes made Hermione smile slightly. She shook her head again, shaking the image fully from her head.

"I'm fine, really I am. I'm sorry, what have I missed?" she said, sitting up straighter and repositioning her legs. Her knee his Ron, who was sitting next to her. He looked down at her touch, but didn't react. They had both agreed to keep their relationship to a minimum around Harry, who always acted uncomfortable when they flirted. As Hermione looked up at Ron, who was staring at her, she realized how hard that was.

"We were thinking," Harry said, again interrupting her thoughts, "that we might want to go to your parents' house in London. You never know, the spells might have worn off and they could have returned."

Hermione shook her head a third time. "I don't think there's any point in doing that. I'm pretty sure the spells would have held. And besides," she added, "I don't even think my house is still standing." This last part was rather quieter than the first as she wrestled with the pressure building behind her eyes.

Ron looked up at her. "You think something happened to it?" he asked. She saw his hand, which was holding a map of Sydney, twitch and move towards hers. Hermione knew he was doing all he could from taking her hand in his own.

Hermione nodded. "I think so. The Death Eaters must have found where I live. I'd be surprised if they didn't destroy it," she said in a whisper. She didn't know why this made her feel so emotional. She had lived in the same house her entire life; the thought of it being destroyed left her feeling strangely empty.

"You're probably right. So you think it would be best to just go straight to Australia?" Harry asked, eyeing Ron who was staring at Hermione, his expression concerned.

"Yes. The only problem is getting there," Hermione said, her voice considerably stronger.

Ron looked up, alarmed. "Getting there? What do you mean? Why can't we just Apparate? We did it all last year!" he said anxiously.

"Yes, but we weren't going all that far, were we. Now, we're talking about Apparating to a different continent. Something could go terribly wrong. The last thing we want to do is injure ourselves," Hermione said as Harry nodded in agreement.

Ron looked between the two, "Then how are you proposing we travel to Australia then?" he asked.

Hermione and Harry looked at each other. They both knew the answer, and they both knew that Ron would not like it. Hermione took a deep breath and spoke first, "we travel in a non-magic way," she said.

Ron's eyebrows furrowed, "which way is that?" he asked with an air of not entirely wanting to know.

"By airplane," Hermione said, her eyes searching his face.

"No way! Those mad things that fly through the air? You've got to be joking! I am _not_ stepping foot on one of them!" he said, standing up in exclamation.

Hermione stood up with him, and grabbed his arm. "Ron, trust me. They're safe, they really are. There's really no other way. You have to trust me on this."

Ron looked down at her hand on his arm and slid it lower, so that it was their hands that were in contact. Hermione wasn't sure if he had even listened to a word she had said. But he didn't argue anymore, and they sat down together again, their hands clasped firmly between them.

"So," said Harry pointedly. "When do you think the best time to leave would be?"

Hermione considered this, her brow furrowed. Really, they could have left the next day. There was not too much to plan anymore, and they had all that they needed. But she wasn't sure if she was ready to confront her parents yet, if she was ready to deal with all of their questions, all of their concerns.

"A week should give us enough time," she said, her eyes lowered. She raised them in time to see Ron and Harry exchange a look over her head. She knew they had expected her to say the next day, or as soon as was possible. But as she looked at Ron, she saw a look of comprehension cross his face. He nodded to her, understanding everything, and put a hand up to Harry, who had tried to impose.

"Harry," Hermione said, wanting more than anything to change the subject of the conversation. "Harry, is Ginny coming with is?" she asked, watching him.

This time, it was Harry's turn to stand up. Hermione and Ron stayed seated on the ground, but they watched as he started pacing from the kitchen to the living room and then back again.

"No, she's not coming," he said shortly. He did not look at them, and he continued pacing. Ron and Hermione exchanged looks; both were extremely confused. Harry and Ginny were virtually inseparable; it didn't make sense for Harry to want to leave her.

"Harry…" Hermione said hesitantly, not knowing how to start a conversation she knew nothing about. "Is – is something wrong?"

Harry paused, looked at her fleetingly, and then continued pacing. "No, nothing is wrong," he said.

"Well don't get me wrong, I don't really want her to come either…it would be weird sharing a tent with me sister, but why don't you want her coming?" Ron asked. Hermione closed her eyes for a second; she would have asked the question in a slightly less blunt manner.

Harry stopped pacing and sat back down in front of them. He shook his head, as if grappling with this question himself. "I don't even know. I don't know why I don't want her coming. I guess…I guess it's because this is a different part of my life. The adventures, the dangers, all of it has happened with you two. When I'm with Ginny it's…it's like I'm a different person. The man I am with her doesn't have to worry about fighting and battles," Harry said, looking down at his hands. "I guess I don't want her to come because I don't want those two lines to cross. I like the differences; I don't want the line to be blurred."

Hermione looked at Ron, to see how he was taking this; it was his sister they were discussing after all. He didn't seem angry, but it was hard to tell exactly what he was thinking.

"Have you told her this, Harry?" Hermione asked. Harry shook his head.

"I haven't gotten up the courage to do it yet, you know she won't take it well," Harry admitted, biting his lip in shame.

"No, she won't," Ron said, laughing hollowly. "But I understand what you're saying," he added, almost as if it were an afterthought.

Hermione glanced at him, and saw that he was looking at her. She felt her heart speeding up again; she didn't know what was going to happen next.

"If they weren't your parents we're getting, I'd want you to stay home too," Ron said, looking at her.

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but she seemed to have lost the ability of speech. She watched as Harry gave them a knowing look, understanding that this was a personal conversation and one which he did not want to be present at. He smiled a little, then got up and left the tent.

Now just the two of them, Hermione finally found the words she needed. "What do you mean, you'd want me to stay at home?" she asked. There was no anger in her voice, only curiosity.

Ron smiled slightly, his eyes scanning her face. "Hermione, we've been through so much in the last year. There have been so many times were we could have been hurt, or we could have died." He paused here to control himself, and Hermione squeezed his hand. He smiled at the contact, and then continued. "Now that the danger is gone, the last thing I want to do is embark on something that has the potential of hurting you," he added softly.

Hermione leapt to her feet and Ron followed her. She opened her mouth to retaliate, to tell Ron that she was just as capable as he was, and in as much danger as he was, but he put a finger to her lips, quieting her. Hermione felt the words die in her throat again.

"I know what you're going to say," Ron said, smiling. "You're going to tell me that just because you're a girl does not make you any less capable, and that I'm in just as much danger as you."

Hermione felt her breath catch: this was _exactly_ what she was going to say. "It's true," she said, a little defensively.

Ron laughed and cupped her face in his hands. Hermione felt her head spin as he did this, and forced herself to concentrate on what he was saying. "I know it's true. And I know you're not the kind of girl that just sits at home and waits for things to happen…that's why I like you so much. I'm just saying that I understand what Harry is saying, and I hate the fact that you might be put in danger. But," he added, his voice raising slightly, as Hermione once again opened her mouth to speak over him, "I know that running around and finding your parents is the only way you'll be happy. And even though it makes me nervous, it makes you happy…and that's the most important thing to me."

Hermione felt all of the air leave her in one great rush. She wondered what she had done to deserve something so amazing. But she didn't have long to consider this; he leaned in and kissed her, and all worldly things were forgotten.

This kiss was different; Hermione tried to put a lot of unsaid things into it. She found that they kissed more fiercely, her hands grabbing at the front of his shirt, his hands tangling themselves in her hair. She could feel the excitement coursing through her veins, and judging by Ron shortened breath, he was feeling it too. Their lips parted quicker this time, and she felt the familiar buzzing sensation run up and down her spine as his tongue wove itself into her mouth.

"You two, dinner's ready, if you're not…busy," called Ginny's voice from outside the tent.

Ron and Hermione broke apart reluctantly, facing each other in the dim light of the tent. Hermione saw Ron's chest rising and falling rapidly, knowing hers was doing the same thing. His hands found hers in the darkness as together they left the tent.

George was not there when they got outside; he had already returned to the kitchen. Completely alone, Ron best down and whispered in Hermione's ear, "You know, we weren't done… George interrupted us back there," he smiled. Hermione felt chills rack her body and she smiled too.

"Later, then?" she asked, knowing his answer automatically. He grinned and kissed her cheek as they made their way into the kitchen.

They received the same knowing looks they had gotten over the last few days as they entered the kitchen. She looked back at Ron and immediately knew why; he had a dazed look on his face, the star struck look one usually gets after kissing. Hermione smiled, wondering if she had the same expression.

The conversation, which had stopped when they had walked through the back door, resumed as they sat down in chairs at the end of the table. As usual, Ron's foot found Hermione's and they played all throughout dinner. Hermione found it difficult to eat; her heart seemed to be blocking her throat.

After dinner, the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione fell into the comfortable routine of sitting in the living room. Harry took the usually chair that faced the sofa where Ron and Hermione sat. Ron placed his arm around Hermione and she felt her heart speed up again.

"Where's Ginny?" Ron asked, for the arm of Harry's chair, where Ginny usually perched, was vacant. They searched the crowded room until they spotted her, hanging back in the doorway of the kitchen. She was looking at the three of them with an odd expression on her face. After a moment Hermione realized, with a sinking heart, that Ginny was looking directly at her.

Hermione excused herself, ignoring Ron's muttering and met Ginny in the doorway. They took seats at the kitchen table, as they had done a few days previously. Like the past occasion, Hermione found herself extremely nervous.

"You three are planning something," Ginny said. Hermione cleared her throat, not knowing how to respond. Ginny had not asked a question; it was a statement. Ginny knew that she was right, and she had only summoned Hermione to confirm her suspicions.

"I – we – we're…" Hermione said, helplessly. She looked around the room, hoping that something, or someone, would come and help her.

"It's a yes or no question," Ginny said flatly; there was no emotion showing behind her brown eyes. This was what Hermione didn't like about Ginny – she was nearly always impossible to read; she didn't like to show what she felt.

"Yes," Hermione said, her voice just barely a whisper. She did, after all, feel completely responsible. They were chasing after her parents.

"I thought so," Ginny said, her voice almost as quiet as Hermione's. Hermione watched her, waiting for the smallest sign of sadness or anger.

"I'm guessing I'm going to be left out of this adventure too?" Ginny asked, somewhat bitterly. Hermione felt helpless; she didn't know how to convey Harry's thoughts to Ginny without making it sound as if she was blaming him.

"Well, we…I need to get my parents from Australia. I sent them there; see, because I didn't want them to get hurt. Now that the war is over, I think it's safe to go and find them. I could do it on my own, but Harry and Ron wanted to come too." Hermione said quickly. She knew that this wasn't exactly answering Ginny's question, but she hoped that by surrounding Ginny with other information, it would diffuse Ginny's anger.

"But _I_ want to come too, why can't I?" Ginny asked. Hermione drew her breath quickly; this was a question to which she had no answer. The correct answer was that Harry didn't want her coming, but this would be too difficult to tell Ginny, and Hermione didn't think it was in her place to tell her.

"Hermione's not the one to have this conversation with, Ginny," came a voice from behind her. She whipped around and saw Harry and Ron standing behind her. Immediate relief flooded her, they had obviously been watching the two girls talk, and they had now come to her aid.

"Then who should I be talking to?" Ginny asked, but her eyes had locked on Ron. Clearly, she thought her older brother was preventing her from coming and being with his friends.

"Me," Harry said simply, and Hermione watched as Ginny's eyes flew to him, her expression confused. Out of the three of them, Hermione knew Ginny suspected Harry was the least likely to stop her from coming with them.

Ron put his hand on Hermione's shoulder, and she took this as a sign that they should leave. Pushing her chair back and avoiding eye contact with Ginny, Hermione stood up and left the kitchen with Ron. They made their way back into the living room, where various members of Ron's family were staring curiously. Hermione steered the two of them into the empty armchair and sat down. Ron resumed his position of holding her, and they watched Harry and Ginny, who were now talking in the kitchen.

"So, you three are planning something, aren't you?" said a voice, and Hermione saw that George had taken the armchair that Harry usually resided in. She looked at Ron, not knowing if they should be telling people. Ron, who seemed to have decided George was trustworthy, nodded.

George nodded. He, like Ginny, seemed to have suspected this. "I knew you three weren't just staying in that tent for a laugh, everyone's been talking about it."

Ron and Hermione exchanged nervous looks, and Hermione knew that Ron was thinking the same thing: if people were talking, there was a good chance Mrs. Weasley had noticed something, and would try to prevent them from leaving.

"Don't worry," said George, correctly interpreting their expressions. "No one knows exactly what you're doing, and I'm not going to be the one to tell them. But I'd be careful and clear out soon…mum's getting anxious."

"Thanks for the warning," Ron said. "We'll be leaving in about a week. Do you think mum will last that long?"

George paused, thinking. "Well, if I were you three, I'd stop acting so suspicious and rejoin society for a few days; that might keep her at bay."

He gave them a searching look before standing up, wishing them goodnight, and then disappearing upstairs to his bedroom. Hermione watched him go, thinking about what he had said. She turned to Ron, who was watching her carefully.

"Do you think a week is too long to wait?" she asked, looking up at him. Ron struggled for a moment, caught between the correct answer and the answer he wanted to give her.

"I think we could go sooner, but if you want to wait, I don't think it will make that much of a difference," he said slowly. Hermione smiled; he knew why she was so hesitant to rush to Australia. He knew she was scared. She reached for his hand and held it in hers.

"Thank you, Ron," she said softly, wondering if those three words even began to express how happy she was.

"For what?" he asked, rubbing his thumb up and down her hand.

"For understanding," she said simply. He smiled and, in full view of the entire room, kissed her. Through the blood that was pounding in her ears, she heard the room become hushed. But then, a loud noise interrupted them.

"SO YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST LEAVE ME BEHIND AND THEN COME BACK WHEN YOU'RE FINISHED, DO YOU?" Ginny screamed. Ron and Hermione broke apart, both standing up at the sudden shouting.

Hermione watched as Harry stood up, his head bowed. Ginny was standing opposite from him, her hands on her hips and her face very red. Her eyes looked a little teary, but she wasn't crying.

Harry mumbled something that Hermione could hear, and saw Ginny become even angrier.

"DON'T YOU DARE, HARRY POTTER. DON'T YOU DARE TRY AND JUSTIFY ANYTHING. I DON'T CARE HOW YOU SAY IT; YOU'RE LEAVING ME BEHIND FOR YOUR _OWN_ REASONS, NOT MINE." Ginny shouted, actually stamping her foot in anger. Harry mumbled something again, and Ginny let out a horrible, derisive laugh. She walked around the table, slapped Harry in the face, and ran out of the kitchen, past the living room, and up the stairs. Hermione made to follow her, but Ron held her back, shaking his head.

There was a rather uncomfortable silence as everyone in the room tried to pretend they had not heard Harry and Ginny's exchange. Harry looked around helplessly, crossed the room, and walked out the front door. Hermione watched him go sadly; there was nothing she could do to help him right now.

As people began to shift back into what they had been doing before Ginny's outburst, Hermione sunk back onto the sofa and buried her hands in her face. This was all her fault: if it weren't for her, then Harry and Ginny would be fighting, Mrs. Weasley would be worried, and they wouldn't be in any of this trouble.

She felt Ron sit down next to her and put his arm around her supportively. She looked up at Ron, and he gave her a knowing look; he knew exactly what she was feeling. This was one of the best things about the two of them: they could have conversations without having to say anything; they each knew what the other was thinking.

After a rather uncomfortable few minutes, the Weasleys began standing up and heading off to bed. Hermione joined them, looking at Ron as she did so. Was he going to follow her back to her tent, or was his earlier promise to her in the backyard forgotten. Ron caught her eye and grinned. "I'll be there later," he whispered, and then headed up the stairs after Percy.

She walked outside alone, and with her wand, she lit up the lamps in the tent. She stood in the center, looking around. It was very cozy in here; she was starting to feel as comfortable in here as she did in the Burrow.

Waiting for Ron was harder than she thought it would be; she didn't know what she should do with herself. First she decided to change out of her clothes, but this in itself was challenging. She didn't want to look as though she had put too much effort into it; she didn't want to scare Ron away. In the end, she decided on a tank top and a pair of shorts. With her bare shoulders and legs, she wanted to make Ron nervous, but she didn't want to look as though she was trying to impress him.

With that hurdle crossed, Hermione didn't know what to do next. She ended up walking aimlessly around the tent, unnecessarily straightening pictures on the walls, or stopping to push in kitchen chairs that were millimeters away from the table.

After what seemed like days, Hermione heard a quiet tap at the tent's canvas. She hurried across the tent and opened the tap. Ron was standing there in his pajamas, a nervous but excited smile on his face.

She giggled a little and let him inside. He stooped down to enter, and then straightened up, his face very close to Hermione's. She smiled a little, then wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him.

They kissed for a very long time, slowly at first, and then more and more passionately. Hermione started to feel nervous, wondering what was going to happen next. She could feel her heartbeat as it hammered loudly against her ribcage, threatening to break free of her chest.

They stopped when they hit a solid object; they had unknowingly made their way over to Hermione's bed. Hermione swallowed and looked at Ron, whose eyes were staring at her bare shoulders. Sensing her gaze, he looked up and met her eyes. She sat down on the bed, then looked up at him, his face partially shadowed in the darkness of the tent.

"What happens now?" she whispered, her voice filling up the silent tent. Ron looked at her searchingly, and she knew he was thinking the same thing.

"I don't know," he said. He sat down next to her and kissed her again. Their lips parted immediately, and Hermione lost track of everything in the world. All that was real was Ron. She allowed herself to be taken in by the intoxicating closeness of being with the person she had longed for. She felt his hands run all over her back, and she could feel them shaking with excitement. She took her hands from her sides and placed them on Ron's neck. They stayed like this for what seemed like eternity, embracing passionately. Then, Hermione broke it off, and Ron groaned good naturedly.

"Really, I mean it. What do we do now," she said, as his blue eyes bore into her. She wondered if he knew the power his eyes had when he looked at her. She wondered if he knew what happened to her heart when he looked at her like that.

He kissed her forehead before answering. Taking his hands in hers, he said. "Maybe there is no answer. Maybe we just… let it take us away."

Hermione nodded. The answer was perfect. As he inched even closer, Hermione felt her heart stop, and she kissed him again. As he parted her lips and put his hands in her hair, she let out a breath and let go of everything. She allowed him to take her away.


	7. 23 Cornwall Place

**A.N. – Thank you for all of the lovely comments/reviews…they were absolutely amazing! I hope everyone likes this chapter.**

Chapter Seven:

When Hermione's eyes fluttered open the next morning, she did not need the gentle snoring next to her to remind her that she was not alone. However, she still allowed herself a few minutes to fully awaken; not truly believing that what she had awoken to was true. Ron was lying on his back, his arms across Hermione's lower back. She was lying on her side, her head on his chest and her arms draped across his torso. Again, their feet, which were still under the blankets, were a tangled mass; Hermione couldn't discern hers from his. As she lay there, waiting for Ron to wake up, she raised one hand and pinched her other arm, making sure this was all real.

She lifted her head a little, so that her chin was still on her chest, but the rest of her face was raised. His head was tilted toward hers at an angle; they had fallen asleep with his head resting on hers. She wished she hadn't moved, ruining their positioning. She lowered her head back slowly and rested it on Ron's chest again. She inhaled the scent of him on his shirt, wondering if he would notice if she stole it. As he inhaled and exhaled slowly, clearly deeply asleep, Hermione felt her head move with him; a soothing lullaby. She wondered if there was any place in the world she would rather be. With the golden sun streaming down through the canvas of the tent and the feel of Ron, Hermione didn't think anything could be more perfect.

Ron stirred, and Hermione lifted her head again, waiting for him to wake up. She was less anxious this time; they were less awkward around each other now. However, her heart still began to pick up a little. She wasn't exactly sure how Ron would react; he could be predictable at times.

She watched as Ron opened his eyes finally, and then looked down at her. A slow smile spread across his face as he saw her looking up at him. He raised his head from her pillow and kissed her, a slow and perfect morning kiss. He rolled onto his side so that they were facing each other, but their lips did not separate. After a few minutes, Hermione broke it off, but she leaned her forehead against Ron's. He smiled again.

"Why do you always do that to me?" he groaned, his mock anger melting away in his smile.

"Because it's early in the morning, and you can't mess me around like that, I'll be out of sorts all day," Hermione said, smiling too. She kissed him quickly on the lips, and then sat up in bed, raising her arms above her head and stretching. Ron didn't move; he had slipped his hands behind his head and was watching her. Reluctantly, Hermione untangled her feet from Ron's and got out of bed. She glanced over at Ron, who was still watching her. She blushed a little at the look on his face.

Walking to the end of the bed, she leaned over and took his hand out from behind his head and pulled, trying to get him to sit up. "Come on, Ron. We should try to get to breakfast before they start missing us and send someone to come looking," she said, digging her heels into the ground and pulling at his arm. He laughed kindly at her fruitless attempts.

"Maybe we could just stay here," Ron suggested, raising his head a little to address Hermione.

The idea was very tempting, but she shook her head. "Come on," she repeated, because she did not have a better argument. He took advantage of the time she had spent thinking, and pulled at her in the opposite direction. Hermione, who was caught unaware, shrieked as Ron pulled him closer to him.

He was strong; much stronger than he thought, and he pulled her back onto the bed. She put her arms out to catch herself as she fell, as she found herself almost directly on top of Ron. She blushed furiously at the position he had placed her in. Ron looked surprised too, and slightly embarrassed. However, neither of them showed any inclination to move.

"Hermione," Ron said, his voice serious, "this is a very compromising position," he said, his smile melting her. She felt her heart beat uncomfortably against her ribcage.

"You put me in it," Hermione whispered, raising an eyebrow. Ron smiled and raised his head again. Their lips met and they kissed again. This time Hermione let it last longer; she was intrigued as to what was happening.

After a while, they broke apart, both breathing heavily. Hermione pushed her hair, which had fallen in curtains around them, out of her face, and got off of the bed for a second time. This time, Ron did as well.

"So much for not messing you around, Hermione," Ron said, grinning.

Hermione laughed, blushing again. "I think it's too late for that," she said.

They got ready to go back up to the Burrow in silence. It was not uncomfortable silence; rather, there was so much to say they didn't know where to start. Ron finished first and waited as Hermione finished putting all of the pillows on the bed. He grabbed her hand in his as they made their way to the house. In the doorway, he turned and kissed her, missing and getting her cheek. She giggled, and she looked up at him, giving him permission to try again. He leaned down and kissed her lips this time, his hand firmly on her lower back. She lost track of where she was and what she was going to do, and she let the bliss overcome her.

The door banged open, and Ron let out a yell of shock. Hermione gasped as the two of them found themselves face to face with Harry. Hermione made a mental note to be more careful when kissing Ron; they had gotten caught more times than she liked to think about.

"Sorry," Ron mumbled, not meeting Harry's eyes. Harry looked up, completely oblivious. Hermione took a better look at Harry and took a sharp intake of breath; he looked terrible. His eyes were rimmed with red, he had clearly not slept. His hair was standing up more than usual as if he had run his hands through it in constant nervousness. His face was pale, and he his expression was so pathetic, Hermione had to restrain herself from rushing to him and hugging him. She glanced at Ron, and they exchanged in silent conversations. Ron nodded, he would talk to Harry, and Hermione would go find Ginny.

Harry walked past them as if they had not been standing there, and began to walk aimlessly into the backyard. Hermione watched him go, biting her lower lip in concern. Ron squeezed her hand, then left too, walking after Harry. Hermione opened the back door, and walked into the kitchen.

The table was unusually empty. Harry and Ron were outside, and Hermione had sat down. Apparently she and Ron had woken up too late to catch the breakfast rush; Mr. Weasley, Bill, Charlie, and Percy had all left for work. The only two people sitting at the table were Mrs. Weasley, Fleur, and George, the latter of whom was getting up to leave. Mrs. Weasley looked up as she walked in and gave her a broad smile.

"Ah, dear, you're awake. You missed the most of breakfast, but I can whip something up if you'd like, there's still some toast," she said, standing up.

Hermione shook her head. "No thank you, Mrs. Weasley, I'm not very hungry right now." This was true; whenever she finished kissing Ron, she found her stomach twisted itself up in a way that made it impossible to eat. "I was looking for Ginny, actually. Have you seen her?"

Mrs. Weasley's smile faltered a little, "She didn't come down for breakfast; I'm assuming she's still in her bedroom."

Hermione nodded. She had expected this. She left the kitchen as Mrs. Weasley and Fleur continued their conversation. She walked past the empty living room and climbed the stairs to Ginny's room. At the door, she knocked quietly. There was no answer. Hesitantly, she pushed the door open a little. When she did not meet resistance, she pushed it open fully and stepped inside.

A hurricane would have done less damage than Ginny had. Hermione gasped as she looked around. All of the posters had been torn off of the walls. Every object on the shelves near the window had been knocked off and smashed. Books had been torn apart, their pages strewn across the floor like battle casualties. Every pillow had been ripped open as feathers leaked out and joined the solitary pages on the floor. The spare bed that Hermione had recently vacated was at an angle. Apparently, in her anger, Ginny had tried to push it or kick it across the room.

Ginny was on her bed, the only thing in the room that had not been destroyed. She sat with her knees brought up to her chest, her arms crossed and her mouth set in a frown. It reminded Hermione painfully of herself on the night that Ron had returned. She shook the image out of her mind and walked toward Ginny, her expression soft.

"Go away," Ginny said, her eyebrows furrowed, "I don't want to talk to you," she added. She moved her head so that she could not see Hermione. Hermione faltered for a moment, then continued walking toward Ginny; she would not give up so easily.

When Ginny did not protest again, Hermione moved closer to the bed, finally sitting on the end of it. Ginny turned her head again, her expression still stony. Hermione watched her, feeling nothing but pity for her.

"Ginny," she said softly, reaching a hand out to comfort her. Ginny moved out of her reach and gave her a horrible look.

"I said go away. I don't want to talk to you, of all people," she spat, and Hermione tried not to feel too hurt. Ginny was known to explode when she was angry, and Hermione had learned not to take it too personally.

"Ginny, please, talk to me," Hermione said, her voice barely a whisper.

Ginny paused, eying Hermione, who held her breath; she felt as if she was being judged. "What's there to tell?" Ginny asked, apparently deciding that she could deign to talk to Hermione. "You know everything…he told you when the three of you were off being exclusive in Bill's tent," Ginny said, hatred etched in every word she threw at Hermione.

Hermione bowed her head, hating Ginny for being right. "So…so Harry told you why he doesn't want you coming?" she said quietly.

Ginny laughed, a cold, horrible, merciless laugh. "You mean all of that rubbish about being a different person when he was with me? How he didn't want to mix that up? Yeah he told me," she said, rolling her eyes.

"W-well, he does have a point, I mean you can see where he's coming from," Hermione said softly, not knowing if this was the correct path to travel down. She glanced up at Ginny quickly to see what she was thinking.

"Maybe from someone on the outside, for someone who's included. But how do you think I feel? I don't care about his stupid lines; I just want to go with you three. But you know what the worst part of the conversation was? The part that got me really angry?" Ginny asked, her voice rising.

Hermione looked up, giving her a questioning look. "He told me that he _loved_ me," Ginny spat. Hermione's mouth dropped open, forming a perfect, comical _o_. "As if by saying that it would all go away and I would be all happy and spineless," Ginny said, shouting every word.

Hermione didn't know how to respond. She was almost positive Harry had said he loved Ginny as a reason for why he didn't want her coming with them, not as a tactic to divert her from coming. But she didn't think now would be the proper time to correct Ginny.

"Ginny, I…" Hermione started, even though she had no idea how to finish the sentence. She knew that she was helpless in this situation.

"Don't say anything, Hermione. There's nothing you can say, I know that. I'm just… I'm just so tired of being left behind. And I'm tired of knowing that there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. Harry won't let me come…he's too stubborn," Ginny said, reaching a level of hysterics. Hermione reached for Ginny's hand, and she took it as a good sign when she didn't recoil.

"Ginny, Harry cares a lot about you. He…maybe he has a strange way of showing it, but he does, I know he does," Hermione said, trying to make Ginny feel better about herself. "With all that Harry has been through, it's natural for him to…want something normal. And that thing that is normal is you. You mean the world to him. But if you go with us, if you join the part of him that's…different…" Hermione drifted off, not knowing how to finish. "Maybe he thinks that he'll never get to that normal part of himself again."

Ginny hung her head, taking in Hermione's words. "I understand what you're saying," Ginny said slowly. "I just wish it didn't have to be me."

Hermione smiled slowly, then leaned over and hugged Ginny. She thought she felt something wet soak through her shirt, but when they broke apart, Ginny's eyes were not teary.

Hermione got off the bed, taking her wand out. "It's not that I don't like the new décor, but I don't think it really suits you," she joked, turning to Ginny, who laughed quietly. Hermione waved her wand in a long, sweeping motion, and the broken objects in Ginny's room began repairing themselves and returning to their proper places.

They walked downstairs together after Ginny had consented to having a bit of breakfast. In the kitchen they met Harry and Ron, who were walking into the kitchen at the same time. Hermione marveled at their impossible timing. She looked back and forth between Harry and Ginny, who were looking apprehensively at each other. Ron caught her eye and she nodded. They left the kitchen together, Hermione glancing back occasionally to make sure Ginny hadn't done anything irrational yet.

As the back door shut behind him, Ron let out a deep sigh, "Not even noon and we've already saved the world," he said, grinning.

Hermione laughed, and sat down on the stairs leading to the kitchen door. Ron sat down next to her, putting his arm around her back. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Well, what should we do today, now that we're off to a good start?" Hermione asked, her head still on his shoulder.

Ron hesitated a few moments before answering, "I have an idea. But it's a surprise," he said slowly, as if he was unsure of himself.

Hermione picked her head up and gave him a questioning look, but his face revealed nothing. He stood up, walked down the last of the stairs, and held out his hand to her. She stood up as well and met him at the bottom of the staircase. She gave him another look, but he shook his head.

"Just take my hand. Trust me," he said, and she obliged.

She felt the familiar sensation of Dissaparating, only this time it was made more uncomfortable due to the fact that her heart was racing with the anticipation of going somewhere with Ron.

When she opened her eyes, they were standing on a very familiar street. She gasped, looking up at Ron, who was standing next to her.

"How did you know?" she whispered, still holding onto his hand; she never wanted to let go.

Ron grinned, proud of himself, "I found it in a letter you wrote to me…the return address," he said.

Hermione only had a fraction of a second to register that he kept the letters she had written to him; the excitement of being so close to her home left little room for other thoughts.

They had missed the house slightly, ending up a block away from where it was. Hermione didn't mind; she could have navigated her way around here with her eyes closed. When they got to the end of the street, where it met the street where her house was, she squeezed Ron's hand. She was scared.

He looked down at her, a look of concern spread on his face. "Are you alright?" he asked her softly.

She nodded, because if she spoke out loud she knew he would be able to tell that she was lying. Deep down she knew that she needed to visit her home, even if there was nothing left. She loved Ron for knowing this about her.

Slowly, they made their way to her house, which was at the end of the street. It was set back further than the others, so that it was not visible until they approached it.

Hermione let out a gasp and her hands fluttered to her mouth. It was gone. Well, the structure itself was still basically there, but all she had known as home was gone. It had been burnt in several places, the blackened wood glaring down at her like the sun. the upper left part of the house was gone completely. The chimney has crumbled and all of the windows were gone. The door had been ripped off its hinges and was lying ten feet away on the lawn, which was yellow and unkempt.

Strangely, the mailbox was the only thing that was untouched. Hermione ran her hand along it, her fingers tracing the familiar address: 23 Cornwall Place. She pushed the gate, which had been smashed but still left on its hinges, aside and walked up the walkway. Bricks from the walkway had been torn up, and she wove her way among the deep holes. Ron caught up to her, and she felt his hand fit itself securely into hers. She felt bravely with it there, and with a deep breath, she crossed the threshold.

The inside was unrecognizable. Hermione looked around, her eyes filling with tears. The charred wood and damaged furniture seemed to be closing in on her, crushing her. She felt Ron's arms around her, supporting her as she cried.

They stayed standing there in the house for a long time. When Hermione couldn't take any more, she lifted her tear stained face off of Ron's chest and looked up at him, telling him she was ready to leave. With his thumb, he wiped her tears away, then kissed her gently on the cheek.

Once they were outside, Hermione took one last look at had once been her home. She took Ron's hand in hers again, and they Dissaparated back to the Burrow.

When they arrived on the familiar green grass, Hermione felt her feet give and she crumpled to the grass, her eyes filled with tears again. Losing her home had damaged her more than she had imagined; it was like a piece of herself was gone too.

She could sense, rather than hear Ron beside her. He stayed with her as she cried, until there were no tears left. When she was done, she turned to look at him. He was sitting on the ground next to her, waiting for her.

"Did I do the wrong thing, taking you there?" he asked, every note of his voice laden with worry.

Hermione shook her head, vigorously. "No, I needed to go back there, I needed to know. I just didn't have the strength to go back there alone. I…I needed you," she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. Ron smiled, and pulled her closer to him. She could feel him stroking her hair and shivered, the familiar tingle running up and down her spine.

They sat like that for a few minutes, then Ron said, "Well, I guess you're pretty messed around now, aren't you?"

Hermione's jaw dropped, not sure whether she should be insulted by his lack of sensitivity. Ron gave her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry," he said, "I…I just can't stop thinking about you."

Hermione's heart stopped, and she felt it drop through her and right down into the ground. She watched as he wiped her tears again, then cupped her face in his hand. With his other hand, we brushed back her hair. Then, very slowly, he kissed her.

"Ron," she said, breaking away. "I think I should be very angry with you. I've just been through a lot and…" she said, but he interrupted her and kissed her again.

She broke away again, "I've been through a lot and all you can think about is kissing me, so…" but he leaned down and kissed her again. She broke away a third time, and this time he groaned a little.

"So I really should be very angry and yell at you but…" she paused, twisting her hands in her lap.

"But?" Ron asked, looking at her with that remarkable stare of his.

"But I can't stop thinking about you either, so I just can't bring myself to be angry at you," she admitted, smiling at him. He laughed.

"Wonderful, now will you finally let me kiss you? Because if you stop me again, I think I'm going to go mad," he said.

Hermione laughed and nodded. He took her face in his hands again and they kissed. Hermione wondered briefly if anyone was watching, but as Ron's hands slid through her hair, she forgot to care about being watched. She parted her lips and inched closer to him, their kiss becoming more passionate. She ran her hands up and down his chest, as he moved his everywhere: her back to her hair and up and face. She began to trembling with excitement, and she could feel him doing the same.

After what seemed like an eternity, they broke apart. Hermione looked up at Ron, smiling. Her heart returned to her in full force, pounding out a loud beat in her chest.

"Congratulations," she said quietly, "You did it, you messed me around… I'm all out of sorts," she said, kissing him quickly on the lips.

Ron smiled. "If you feel like that, just imagine how _I'm_ feeling," he said.

Hermione felt her heart come to a stop again as she leaned in and they kissed. She wondered fleetingly what she had done to deserve something so perfect.

**A.N. – I hope everyone likes this…I'm sorry for those of you asked for an "I love you" but don't worry, it's coming. I have the part picked out, it'll be soon. Reviews/comments would be very much appreciated :)**

**Also, a huge thank you to everyone who put this story/me on their list of favorites. You are all amazing!!**


	8. The Adventure Begins

Chapter Eight:

The next few days passed in a comfortable routine. Hermione continued sleeping in the tent; despite her many failed attempts to give it back to Bill, who refused every time. Hermione couldn't help but feel grateful; she had grown to love the tent. Every morning, she would have breakfast with the Weasleys and Harry, and then spend time with Ginny. Harry and Ron had been mysteriously disappearing ever since the day he had taken her back to her house, and Hermione couldn't find out what they were doing for the life of her. However, she didn't have too much time to think about it; Ginny was occupying much of her attention. Although she claimed she understood what Harry meant, she was far from forgiving him for deciding to leave her behind. The fact that she had not hexed Harry surprised Hermione; though Ginny had threatened on several occasions. After spending the day with Ginny, they would have dinner with the rest of the Weasleys. By this time, Harry and Ron would return from whatever they were doing, though they refused to talk about it. After dinner she, Harry, and Ron would go into her tent. Sometimes they talked about Australia, and their plans for what they would do once they got there. Other nights they talked about things that had noting to do with danger and Dark wizards. On those nights, the laughter was louder and someone standing outside the tent would not believe that the three people it enclosed had once held the weight of the world on their shoulders. When their eyes started to get heavy, Harry would leave the tent, and Ron would stay for an extra hour or so, but didn't stay the night. It was unspoken between them that Harry needed Ron right now more than Hermione did.

The morning of their departure brought a breeze of cool air and mist. Hermione packed up the tent, looking at the empty lawn a little forlornly. They had decided to take the tent with them and sleep in it. Harry and Hermione had decided that renting a hotel room would be too expensive, especially after the three plane tickets that had greatly depleted Hermione's savings. From behind her, she heard the back door shut quietly. She knew it was Ron and Harry, but she didn't turn around. No one else was awake; they had told Ron's family about their trip last night, but they had told them that they didn't need to wakeup early to see them off. Surprisingly, they did not meet any opposition – though Mrs. Weasley did protest at first – when they told the Weasleys of their plans. Hermione suspected that they knew that something like this would happen.

Hermione felt a hand on her shoulder, and she turned around. Harry had reached his arm out to her, comforting her. Ron walked out the back door a second later, yawning widely. Before he approached them, Harry leaned in, his hand still on her shoulder.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly, his hand gripping her comfortingly.

"We're all packed, everything's ready to go," Hermione said, knowing fully well that this was not an answer to the question. The real answer was "no", but she could not give it because she knew that if she did, Harry would cancel the trip right then and there. But despite her reservations about going to Australia, she knew she had to follow through; if she turned around now it might be too late.

"Hermione," he said softly, worry flashing across his eyes. Hermione felt bad; with everything he had been through, she felt horrible adding to his worries.

"I'm fine," she said, putting on a convincing face. "Really, I am," she added, as he continued to look unconvinced.

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but by now Ron had approached them. He looked between the two of them and said, "Ready for the off?" he asked.

Hermione nodded. She could convince Harry that she was fine, but she knew that Ron would be able to hear it in her voice. Like Harry, his face was skeptical, but he did not argue. They stood in a row, holding hands, ready to Apparate. Hermione looked up and her eyes found Ginny's window. The morning sun hit it and it illuminated like a flame. Hermione felt the guilt rolling around in her stomach as she thought of leaving Ginny behind. The only thing that assuaged her shame was the envelope she had slipped into Ginny's hand after dinner. She looked away from the window, and caught Ron's eye.

He squeezed her hand. "You're sure about this?" he asked. Hermione bit her bottom lip and nodded. The more people asked this, the less sure she was that she could keep on lying to them. If she was asked this question again, she was sure she would break and tell the truth. Luckily, there was no time for this to happen. She gripped the two hands that were holding hers, and turned on the spot, twisting into the suffocating darkness.

When she was able to breathe again, they were standing in the farthest parking lot of the airport, which was deserted in the early hours of the morning. They dropped hands, Ron rather reluctantly, and walked toward the entrance. As they walked through the doors, Hermione let out a deep breath and calmed herself. This was finally happening, like she had wanted it too. She didn't want her doubts and fears to take over the excitement of finally being reunited with her parents.

Hermione, the only one of the three who had been on a plane, led them through the airport. They received rather strange looks when they told the woman at the desk that they did not have any baggage; all of their clothes and belongings were safely stowed in Hermione's familiar beaded bag, which she would take on the plane.

They had a small spot of trouble at the security station at the part where they had to take off their shoes: Ron had point-blank refused to part with his.

"Ron," Hermione pleaded with him, as he stood there stubbornly with his arms crossed. "You have to do it…it's for safety. They need to check you're not hiding anything in there," she hissed, aware that people were sending them amused looks.

Ron pulled a skeptical face, "What could someone possibly hide in their shoes? I'm not taking them off, they're new!" he said.

Hermione, with much difficulty, did not roll her eyes. "Ron," she said exasperatedly, "they don't _keep_ them. They just check them and then they give them back to you" she whispered, as Harry roared with laughter.

Ron's ears turned red. "Well, you didn't tell me that! I thought they were taking our shoes!" he said defiantly, slipping them off and putting them in a bin. Hermione suppressed the urge to laugh.

Beside the small glitch, everything went smoothly until it was time to board. As the stood in the gateway, Ron looked up at the plane, his face very pale. Hermione was reminded of the time he had accidently cursed himself to cough up slugs, and knew that this wasn't a good sign. She took his hand in hers, gripping it tightly as if they were about to Apparate again.

"It's going to be fine," she told him. "Really, you don't even notice anything once you're on the plane," she said reassuringly.

Differing of Ron was Harry, who was nothing short of thrilled to finally being able to ride in an airplane, having being denied the opportunity on several occasions; the Dursleys had never taken him on holiday with them. He kept on sticking his head out of the line, checking to see if they were close to the front. Every time he did so, he would smile a little and say, "We're getting closer, we're getting closer!" which was responded each time with Ron groaning and turning a little greener. Hermione shook her head, wondering if she was going to survive the flight.

When, to Harry's excitement and Ron's fear, they reached the front of the line, Hermione handed the stewardess her boarding pass and walked through the gate. Harry followed her, and, after a little hesitation, Ron went after him. He rushed through the gate, as if getting their faster would make it less unpleasant. Hermione smiled and laughed softly, reaching for his hand again when he caught up to her.

They found their seats, which were luckily in a row of three, and sat down. Ron was in the isle, furthest from the window. Harry and Hermione agreed that if he was near the window, it was very likely he would attempt to break the glass and escape. Hermione sat in the middle, and Harry sat at the window. He immediately pressed his face against the glass, exclaiming at everything he saw. Hermione watched him with a small smile on her face. However, the novelty began to wear off after a few minutes, and his constant banter came to a complete stop when he realized that the boy sitting in front of them, who was no older than six, was behaving in a very similar manner. This shut Harry up immediately, and he began to rifle through a magazine instead, his face a little red.

After nearly twenty minutes of sitting, a flight attendant came over the intercom and told all of the passengers to buckle their seatbelts; they would be taking off soon. Hermione felt her stomach swoop excitedly, as she clicked the belt into place.

As the plane began to roll, she heard Ron whimper. One of his hands was gripping the armrest, the other holding onto Hermione. She felt her fingers slowly getting numb, but she didn't say a thing. She glanced at Ron, who was ashen face and panicky. On her other side was Harry, who looked as though he was having the time of his life.

"This is mental, this is mental, this is mental," Ron muttered, his lips almost white on his skin. Hermione smiled kindly, because she didn't know what to do for him.

The take off was smooth, though Hermione didn't register much of it; her fingers felt as though they were about to be separated reluctantly from her hand. However, she didn't have the heart to tell Ron to loosen his grip, not when he was so miserable.

Flight attendants passed by the isles, checking on people and taking requests. One of them, a middle aged woman with short curly black hair, stopped at their row. Hermione looked up at her nervously: had they somehow been caught?

"Is there anything I can get you?" she asked, her voice carrying over Ron's moaning. Hermione shook her head, slightly embarrassed. The stewardess looked unconvinced. She glanced at Ron, and then asked Hermione, "Is your boyfriend alright?"

Despite everything, all three of them froze. Harry, who had been peering obsessively out of the window, grinned, his eyes flickering from Ron to Hermione and back again. Ron stopped moaning and was looking at Hermione as well, his face both quizzical and amused. Hermione's mouth dropped open, not knowing what to say or how to say it.

"I… he…he's not a good flier," she said faintly, her voice barely above a whisper. The flight attendant nodded, and then moved on down the line.

The three of them sat there rather awkwardly, the stewardess's question still ringing in their ears. Harry cleared his throat and looked around the plane, as if hoping he could be sitting anywhere but here. Ron was looking at Hermione, who refused to look at him, his mouth slightly open. Hermione could feel her heart hammering in her ears.

"Wow, we must be thousands of feet up!" Harry exclaimed, in an extremely transparent attempt to change the conversation. Ron shifted in his seat slightly to glance out the window then fell back, his face turning paler. He gripped Hermione's hand harder. She doubted she would ever get circulation back there. Their uncomfortable conversation was discarded, left behind them.

They hit a small bit of turbulence, and the plane tipped a little. Ron swore very loudly, and several people swiveled in their seats to stare at him. Hermione turned a glowing shade of red, and said, "Please, Ron, keep you're voice down." But he didn't hear her or acknowledge the fact that he was drawing attention to himself. As the plane rocked back and forth, he maintained a steady flow of words that would have put Mrs. Weasley in a dead faint. Hermione gave up on him, and resorted to just holding his hand.

When they reached calmer air again, Ron had still not relaxed. Harry, who was clearly tired of Ron raining on his parade, leaned across Hermione and said, "Listen, mate. Even if the plane does crash, we have our wands. We'd be able to save ourselves."

Hermione gave him a cross look, not sure if he had made anything better. Ron was having a difficult time being in the air, she wasn't sure if she wanted him imagining the plane crashing. To her surprise, this calmed Ron immediately. His viselike grip on Hermione's hand became bearable, and his face regained a little color.

"You're right, I forgot," he breathed happily. He stopped moaning and whimpering, but picked up another habit. Occasionally, Hermione would hear him muttering a long string of spells, all of which, she suspected, he deemed useful to use if the plane did crash. He also began putting his hand in his right pocket ever minute or so, and Hermione was sure he was checking to make sure he still had his wand.

"Just making sure, just making sure," he said, as Hermione watched him check his pocked for the hundredth time.

Harry laughed. "Hermione, I'm starting to think it would have been easier to just Stun him and drag him along," he joked, shaking his head at Ron. Hermione laughed to and Ron scowled.

"Not appreciated," he said shortly, but he smiled reluctantly.

At noon, a woman began walking up the isles, pushing a lunch cart. Hermione was reminded of the trolley on the Hogwarts Express. Ron watched it come eagerly, then frowned when he saw it.

"But, there's nothing good on it," he said disappointedly, and Hermione was sure he was expecting the stock of the Hogwarts Express. The woman scowled at him as Hermione paid for food.

Hermione dropped a sandwich in Ron's lap, then frowned at him, "Ron, you have to be more careful, you can't act too…suspicious," she said.

"Relax, Hermione," Harry said, biting into his sandwich, "they're not going to notice anything. They'll just notice how annoying Ron is."

Ron pulled another face, but did not have a response ready. After lunch, Hermione fell asleep; not because she was tired but because she was utterly bored.

When she woke up again, the sun was setting, casting the plane in a golden glow. Her head, which had been resting on Ron's shoulder, felt heavy, and he neck was still. She sat up, feeling her neck gingerly. Ron glanced down at her and smiled.

"Good morning, you've been out for quite a while," he said kindly, brushing hair out of her face for her. Hermione looked around, blinking sleepily, "How long have I been sleeping for?" she asked, stretching her legs out as far as the seat in front of her would let her.

"At least four hours, I think. You fell asleep around one, and it's nearly five o' clock now. Harry said the dinner trolley should be coming soon."

Hermione nodded, and then looked around to her other side. To her surprise, the seat was empty. "Where's Harry?" she asked, looking up at Ron.

"He said he wanted to stretch his legs," Ron replied, leafing through the magazine Harry had cast aside. Hermione contemplated going after him to find him, but she didn't have the time. He walked over to them and sat back down, gazing out the window at the rapidly darkening sky.

"Good morning, Hermione. You were sleeping for a long time, restless night last night?" Harry asked her, his eyes still on the night sky.

Hermione shook her head, "No, actually I slept well," she replied.

The dinner trolley came by, and this time Ron acted, much to Hermione's pleasure, completely normally. After dinner, Ron drifted off to sleep, his head lolling on her shoulder as he snored quietly. Hermione and Harry were left alone, the many unsaid things between them so noticeable it was as though a solid brick wall had formed.

"I did the right thing, didn't I?" Harry asked, acknowledging the wall and taking the first step in breaking it down.

Hermione sighed, not knowing what to say. "I don't know, Harry. I really don't know," she said, deciding on the spot that the truth was the best option here.

Harry turned away from the window and looked her in the eyes. Hermione felt herself quell under his intense gaze.

"I did the right thing," he repeated, trying to convince himself. Hermione sat in silence, not knowing how to respond.

"She's never going to forgive me, is she?" Harry asked quietly, regret spelled out in every word. Hermione placed her hand comfortingly over his.

"She will," she said earnestly. Harry looked at her disbelievingly, and she gripped his hand firmer. "She will, Harry, I know she will. You just have to give her time. I mean, imagine being her, imagine how she's feeling right now," she said.

Harry shook his head sadly, "I can't even bring myself to do that. I'm a terrible person, aren't I?" he asked miserably.

Hermione shook her head vigorously. "No, Harry, you're not and you know it. You…you're just…" she paused, wondering how to phrase what she needed to say. "You're not like other people. Ginny knows this; she's known it all along. But I guess knowing it and accepting it are two different things," she said.

Harry smiled a little, and she was sure he was thinking of Ginny. She decided to let him get lost in his thoughts, and waited patiently for him to surface again. When he did, he smiled at Hermione. "Thank you," he said, gripping her hand back.

Hermione smiled ruefully. "Don't thank me, I ruined this for you, this is entirely my fault," she said softly. "I made you do this…because of me Ginny's mad at you and…" she started, but Harry cut her off.

"Hermione, no. You can't blame yourself. I made the decision, it's my fault that she's angry with me and she's not here with us. Please, don't go blaming yourself for this." Harry said. Ron snored a little louder, and Harry jumped, removing his hand from Hermione's, as if he was scared Ron would wake up and get angry with them for touching.

They spent the next hour in a comfortable silence. Ron woke up, groaning and rubbing his eyes. He stretched his long legs and received a mean look from the woman sitting in front of him. He scowled back at her, and then stuck his legs out into the isle, extending them fully. When he caught Hermione looking at him, he started a little, and then said, "What? I've been sitting all day… my legs hurt!"

"Well," she said, forgiving him, "You won't have to be sitting for long; we're almost there, I think?"

No sooner had she said this, an attendant's voice came over the intercom again and said, "The captain would like to tell you we are beginning the descent. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts. Thank you very much for flying with us, we hope it was nothing but enjoyable."

Ignoring Ron's scoffs, Hermione fastened her seatbelt as the plane began to lose height. She felt Ron's hand in hers again, and saw he had turned pale again. As they began the rapid decline in height, she could hear Ron muttering, "I don't like this, I don't like this, I don't like this," over and over again. She clutched his hand, hoping to offer him a small piece of comfort.

As the plane touched down, Ron let out a small gasp, though Hermione did not know if it was out of fear or relief to be finally on the ground again. She watched as Harry unbuckled himself rather sadly and she smiled; he had loved the plane.

When they finally got off the plane, Ron bent down so that he was kneeling on the hot asphalt. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," he said. Hermione laughed, slightly embarrassed.

"Come on Ron, don't be so dramatic," Hermione muttered to him, pulling at his arm. She was getting slightly anxious, and Ron was a clear outlet.

"So, where do we go now?" Harry asked Hermione, as Ron continued to praise the ground and Hermione continued to try and yank him into a standing position.

"We can Disapparate to the town, I know where they're living," Hermione said, giving up on Ron and turning to Harry.

"You do?" he asked incredulously.

Hermione nodded, "Of course. I didn't just send my parents into the continent and hoped that one day I would locate which town they decided to stay in. I sorted it all out last summer: the town, the house, everything. They're in a small town called Charlottesville, it's on the coast," she said, and then added. "Are you finished Ron?"

Ron nodded and stood up, joining the two of them. "Ready when you are," he said, grinning broadly at them. Apparently, surviving the airplane ride had put him in a very good mood.

Checking to make sure that they were not near people and out of sight, they grasped hands, and Disapparated.

When they emerged from the darkness, a cool salty breeze whipped at their faces. Hermione spat hair out of her mouth and turned around. They were right in front of her parent's house. The pull to run in and embrace them tugged at her heart, but she wouldn't let herself surrender to impulses: she would be logical.

"Right, so the house next door is vacant; there's something wrong with the pipes so it's all leaky," she said, addressing the two boys. They exchanged looks but did not say anything; by now they did not question her ever expanding knowledge. Really, she had called the broker months ago and found this out when she had put an offer on the house that now belonged to her parents.

"So are we staying in there?" Ron asked, indicating the run-down little shack that stood next to her parent's home. Hermione shook her head.

"No, but I thought we could camp on the beach. All of the property here faces the ocean," Hermione said. The other two agreed, and together they walked around to the back of the little shack.

The full moon created a path on the dark, calm water. Hermione stopped and admired the beauty of it. The warm summer air, pleasantly matched with the cool wind coming off of the water, made it the perfect temperature. The waves lapped at the beach, the soothing rhythm matching her heartbeat, so that Hermione felt as if together, they were the same thing.

Harry got the tent out of her bag and erected it, where it looked slightly out of place against the backdrop of the sand and the ocean.

Hermione walked into the tent, followed by Ron, and immediately felt as if she were at home. She sighed happily and lay down on the bed, letting out a small groan of pleasure to be somewhere she knew. Ron stood over her, laughing, not daring to lie down next to her when Harry was in the vicinity.

It took a lot of effort, but she sat back up again, looking around. Ron had illuminated the lamps from some stolen source of light from the Deluminator; they hovered there in the center of the tent like miniature suns.

Hermione saw her chance: Harry was in the bathroom, washing up and Ron had his back to her, making tea. Quietly, she slipped off the bed and found Harry's jacket. Sliding her hand into the left pocket, she pulled out the slippery, shimmery piece of fabric and threw it over herself. Still unnoticed by Ron, she tiptoed out of the tent and onto the beach.

Under the Invisibility Cloak, she ran ten feet to her parents' house. It was completely dark except for a light in the back of the first floor. Hermione crept closer to investigate, stepping into the shadows as she forgot that she was invisible.

The light that was on was in the kitchen. As Hermione crept closer, she saw her parent's sitting together at the kitchen table, drinking mugs of what was probably tea. Hermione's lungs seemed to stop working as everything crashed down on her. She watched as they chatted happily over their steaming mugs, laughing hard and often. Tears began to slide down her face as her worst fears were confirmed.

They were happy. The proof was there, right in front of her face. Her parents did not know of her existence, they did not feel the pull toward her as she had hoped, deep down, they did. As she stood there, her heart aching and her eyes leaking, she realized what she was about to do. She was going to ruin their lives, again. They were happy here, in their new life, in their new home. Without her. Hermione cried, forgetting everything around her. She closed her eyes, unable to look at the scene in front of her.

When she turned around to leave, she walked into something solid. Looking up, she saw Ron, who had clearly followed her here.

"How did you know?" she whispered, her voice thick with tears.

Slowly, he reached toward her and took off the cloak. "I thought you might do something like that. In the tent, when I looked around and you were gone, I thought you might be here, so I followed you," he said, his voice slightly apologetic. He looked beyond her, into the scene in the kitchen. His face fell, and he looked down at her.

"Oh, Hermione, I'm…I am so sorry," he whispered, putting his hands on her shoulders. She breathed in sharply and let out a compressed sob. Taking her in his arms, Ron held her tightly, muttering soothing words and rubbing her back comfortingly.

They stood like that, in the veil of darkness, until Hermione had stopped crying. When she had stopped sobbing into his shirt, which was now very wet, Ron gave her a long, searching look. He did not ask her how she was feeling or what she was thinking; he already knew.

Together they made their way back to the tent, the silver moon painting the way back to the tent in the darkness. Ron kept his arm around her shoulders, protecting her. With the promise of his arms around her shoulders, Hermione felt herself becoming stronger.

As she crawled into the bed twenty minutes later, Hermione could feel the weight of his arms around her, even though he was no longer there. She thought about what she was going to do in the morning, and how she was about to change everything. And even though she was nervous and uncertain, the fact that she had Ron here made things just a little bit better.

**A.N – Well, I hope you all liked that chapter; it took a long time to write! There should be a new chapter coming soon. Everyone who's disappointed about Ginny, don't worry, I have it all worked out :)**

**Reviews would be amazing if you guys have a spare moment…I love reading them!**


	9. Monical & Wendell Wilkins

Chapter Nine:

Hermione woke up the next morning before dawn had fully broken. The tent was bathed in the serene, half-light that comes just after night and right before morning. She rolled onto her back, gathering up the blankets and pulling them close to her chest, as if physically holding something would soothe her nerves. Harry and Ron, who had Vanished the sofas, had set up camp beds in the living room. With no uncertainty in their near futures, they were both fast asleep; Ron sprawled on his back with his head tilted up, snoring loudly, and Harry curled into an impossibly tight ball. Hermione watched her two friends, wishing to join them in the peaceful oblivion of sleep. But she knew this would not be possible; now that she was awake and aware of what the day held for her, she couldn't calm herself.

It took quite a lot of personal strength to stay still for so long, but she managed, lying in bed and watching the clock tick down the minutes until it was an acceptable time for her to get out of bed. At a quarter to seven, she got up and tiptoed to the bathroom, shutting the door very quietly behind her.

Her white-faced reflection stared back at her from the mirror over the sink. Hermione bit her lip: she looked just as worried as she felt. She turned the tap on and ran cold water on her face, trying to rinse away all of her uncertainties, hoping more than anything that they would run off her skin and down the drain. When she looked at herself again, her face was a little pink from the cold, but still looked extremely scared. She turned from her reflection and left the bathroom.

When she stepped out, Ron was waiting for her, a mug of tea in his hands. She smiled appreciatively and took it from his outstretched hands.

"Why are you up so early?" she asked, tilting her face downward so that it touched the rising rivulets of steam issuing from the cup. The feel of it was enormously calming.

"I set an alarm, I knew you wouldn't be sleeping," Ron said, looking very pleased with himself. She smiled at his consideration, then, checking to make sure that Harry was still properly asleep; she rose on her toes and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.

She sat down at the kitchen table, still clutching the hot mug. Her mind instantly flashed back to the scene in the kitchen last night, as she watched her parents drink tea in the kitchen and laugh about their days. Her heart fluttered and she tried to push it to the back of her mind. She would forget about that, she wouldn't let it bother her.

Ron sat down opposite her, stretching his arm across the small table and grabbing her wrist. He looked at her until she had the courage to look back at him. This time, she wasn't scared of what she would see in his eyes, but of what he would see in hers. He ran his thumb soothingly up and down her wrist as a furrowed his eyebrows and looked at her.

"Everything's going to be alright, Hermione," he whispered. "Nothing bad will happen. I…I won't let it," he added, gripping her wrist tightly. She smiled sadly. She knew he meant what he said, but she also knew he didn't have any control over what happened. He would be there for her, she knew, no matter what happened, but she could not fool herself into thinking that his presence would have the ability to alter the situation.

More than anything, she wanted to be alone. She needed time to think, to coach herself. She looked up at Ron, not knowing how to tell him this kindly. But as she opened her mouth, Ron let go of her wrist and stood up.

"I'm going to take a shower, will you be fine here alone?" he asked, looking down on her. She smiled, her only truly happy smile so far, and nodded. How he knew exactly what she needed she did not know, but she was infinitely grateful that he did. He gave her one last searching look, and then left the room.

Left alone to her own devises, Hermione brought her knees up to her chest so that she was curled up on the chair. She placed her arms on her knees and rested her head on her arms, closing her eyes. She tried to picture what would happen next, but her mind was blank. There were so many different things; so many variables, there was no way for her to envision herself giving her parents their memories back.

An hour later, Ron was showered and Harry had woken up. They stood together in silence, both boys watching Hermione carefully. She was shaking from head to foot, her ears ringing. More than anything, she wanted to shout, to let out some of the pent up nerves she had housed deep down inside of her. But there was no time for that; it was time to see her parents.

They had decided that Hermione would pose as a runner, and knock on their door asking for a drink of water. Hermione didn't much like the idea of entering the house as an imposter, but – as Harry had pointed out many times – it was a better option than kicking down the door and entering by force. She was dressed in shorts and a tank top, which unfortunately exposed the goose bumps that had formed on her arms and legs.

The three of them walked out of the tent together, and Ron and Harry hung back as she took a step towards the house. They had unanimously decided, Ron rather reluctantly, that Hermione would go alone. Hermione's parents would be meeting the daughter they didn't know they had today, and the three of them had agreed that the extra strain of adding two more people was unnecessary. Besides, this was something Hermione wanted to do by herself. She had not expected Ron and Harry to come with her in the first place, and in all of the hazy visions of reuniting with her parents, she was always alone with them. She also didn't want to make Harry and Ron uncomfortable; emotions were sure to run high.

She turned back to look at them, both wearing encouraging smiles. She nodded, as if to announce that she was strong enough; that she could do this. She walked faster, her pace quickening as the distance between her and the tent grew.

She wished she could go to her parent's house immediately, but it was not part of the plan. If she were to act as a runner needing water, it did not make sense to turn up on their doorstep looking composed. As she began running around the block, she felt foolish, but soon other emotions consumed her. The running, the sheer activity of it, pounded out all of the fear and nervousness she felt. Really, she only needed to run once around the block to look convincing, but she found herself rounding the corner twice more.

She forced herself to breath as she walked up the brick path that paved itself to their front door. It reminded her of the walkway leading up to their old house, and Hermione felt her heart begin to beat quicker.

She paused at the top of the stairs for a moment and took a deep breath, readying herself for whatever was going to happen next. She stretched out a hand and rang the doorbell, the sound of it echoing in her brain.

There was a sound of footsteps, and then the door opened. Hermione felt her throat close as she stood facing her mother. The woman took a step backward in shock, her mouth opened slightly as she looked at Hermione, who so greatly resembled her.

Hermione's story died in her throat as she stared at her mother, wanting more than anything to run into her arms. Then, she remembered that she was a complete stranger, and could not go hug her. She smiled shakily and said.

"I'm sorry, may I come in?"

Hermione's mother, Mrs. Wilkins, eyed her, confusion etched on every line of her face. She watched as her mother's eyes flickered up and down her body, as if she were sizing her up. Determining that she was not dangerous, she nodded slightly and stood aside for Hermione to pass. As Hermione stepped over the threshold, she wondered why her mother had so willingly let a stranger in. She wondered, or hoped, that maybe her mother _did_ know something.

Hermione looked around the house and she felt an unfathomable feeling of being perfectly at home. The place was very welcoming; pictures adorned every wall and there was comfortable furniture everywhere. The house was filled with warm colors: all reds and oranges and purples. And the books, they where everywhere. They were propped against walls, they filled shelves, they were stacked on tables. The perfectly chaotic order of it all made Hermione think of the old home they used to have.

"Honey, who was just at the –" said a voice from the kitchen, and a man, Mr. Wilkins, walked into the room. The last word of his sentence disappeared as he looked between the two women standing in front of him. Their resemblance made him stop short, his mouth hanging open.

"Who – who are you?" he asked, his voice faltering slightly.

"My name is Hermione," Hermione said quietly, looking back and forth between her parents. "And I am your daughter."

Mrs. Wilkins took a step backwards into the living room and collapsed on the nearest armchair. Hermione's father rushed to her aid, looking up at Hermione furiously.

"I don't know what you think you're playing at, but it's really not funny. Please, just go," he said, pointing her to the door. Hermione almost obeyed him, but her feet would not move; she was stuck there in the middle of the foyer, paralyzed with fear.

"No, no Wendell. I'm fine, really," Mrs. Wilkins said, brushing her husband away. She gave Hermione a curious look. "Sit down, please," she said, motioning to the armchair opposite her.

Hermione sat down in the armchair, wondering if she considered this to be going well. Mr. Wilkins sat on the arm of his wife's chair, giving Hermione a challenging look.

"I don't know who you are. We don't have a daughter," Mrs. Wilkins said.

Hermione shook her head, "No, your right. Monica and Wendell Wilkins do not have a daughter," she said softly.

"Well, that's us. I think maybe you have the wrong house. Since we're both on the same page here and everything – we both agree that we don't have a daughter, I think it would be best if…" Mr. Wilkins said, but his wife hushed him.

"The thing is," Hermione said, "You're not really Monica and Wendell Wilkins." As she said this, she refused to look at them. She did not want to see how much pain she was causing them, so she stared at her hands, which were folded in her lap. When she looked up, her mother was sitting on the edge of her chair.

"Who are we?" she asked, her voice a whisper. From beside her, Hermione's father looked angry.

"Darling, please, be logical. We know who we are. This girl is just trying to get money out of us, it's a scam," Mr. Wilkins said, eying Hermione with dislike. But his wife hushed him for a second time.

"Lately I…I've been having flashes," Mrs. Wilkins said, her voice quiet, as if she was reluctant to share this. "They're short, and I can't make sense of them. Sometimes, I have a memory in my head, but it's not mine. I mean, I feel it…but it hasn't been in my life. And other times…I don't know how to describe it. I see something and it reminds me of something else, but that something else isn't part of my life," Hermione's mother said, her eyebrows furrowed.

Hermione looked up, and a flicker of something that felt like hope passed through her. She knew that her mother was remembering her other life, her real one. "You are really Jean and Bill Granger, and you are my parents. I…well it's a long story. But I can make you remember who you really are," she said.

"Jean Granger," her mother said, trying out the feel of the words in her mouth. Hermione nodded earnestly.

"Are you some sort of hypnotist? How did we lose our memory? How did we become different people?" her father wanted to know.

Hermione took a deep breath. "No, I'm not a hypnotists, I'm…I'm a witch. You lost your memories and became different people because…because…well I did it. I did it because you were in danger," Hermione said, feeling very lost and helpless. Without Harry and Ron by her side, she felt incredibly vulnerable.

Her parents stared back at her in shock for several minutes, her father the first one to regain the ability of speech. "I don't believe it! I don't believe a word of it!" he said, standing up and taking his wife's hand. "Come on now Monica, you can't honestly believe all the rubbish…" he said, but Mrs. Wilkins tore her hands out of his grip.

"It's not Monica," she said rather breathlessly, "It's Jean."

Hermione felt a wide smile split her face. If she could convince her mother, then the rest could go smoothly. Her father struggled for a moment, then began pacing back and forth along the length of the fireplace, refusing to look at his wife or the girl claiming to be his daughter.

"You say that you can give us our old lives back?" Mrs. Granger asked Hermione. Hermione nodded.

"Yes, I can if…if you want," Hermione said. She wanted to at least give her parents the option of staying the way they were.

"Please," Mrs. Granger whispered. "I…I've known for a while now that something wasn't right. Please do it," she said.

Hermione nodded, her heart thumping painfully in her chest. "I think it would be best if you were sitting down," she said to her father, who had not stopped pacing. He paused, eyeing her carefully. Then, Mrs. Granger looked at her husband. "Bill," she said, using his proper name, "we have to do this, I know we do."

His wife's appeal seemed to have done something to him, and he obliged, sitting down in the nearest armchair. Hermione stood up, taking out of her pocket a small thin piece of wood. Hermione's father eyes her wand rather dubiously, but if he had misgivings he did not voice them.

"Stupefy!" she said, so that both of her parents slid down a little in their chairs, unconscious.

Hermione took a few steps back, so that the spells she was about to perform would reach both of her parents. _This is it_, she thought, her heart beating wildly as her well-practiced arm flicked through the air. When she was finished, she muttered, "Ennervate!" and slowly, as if they had been sleeping a very, very long time, her parent's eyes began to flutter open.

Hermione's mother awoke first. She looked around the room, and then screamed at the top of her voice. Hermione took several steps back in fright. Her mother's screams woke up her father, who jumped a foot in the air and looked around wildly for the source of the noise.

"Mum? Dad?" she said softly, wondering if what she had done had worked. Her mother, who had been too busy registering the unfamiliar house they were sitting in, caught sight of her daughter, and screamed again.

"_Hermione_?" she said incredulously. "What…what happened?"

Hermione sighed, her hands twisting nervously in front of her. Her parents stood up, looking around them in awe and fear. As they bore down on her, Hermione began to feel like a small child about to be punished.

"Hermione what's going on?" her father asked, his voice slightly raised.

"I…I can explain," Hermione said weakly. "Please, sit down. This is going to take a while."

Rather reluctantly, her parents returned to the chairs they had just vacated. Hermione sat down across from them, her hands shaking. Although they still had so far to go, the hardest part was over. Her parents were her parent's again…there was no noticeable damage, the spells had worked.

She started at the beginning, with Harry and the prophecy. She told them about the end of her sixth year, and how they had all vowed to look for the Horcruxes. She told them of the danger they had been in, and how she had no choice but to alter their memories so that they were safe. She explained what had happened at the wedding – leaving out the part about Ron of course – and how they had returned to Grimmuald Place. She recounted their infiltration of the ministry, and how they were unable to return to Harry's house, so they began camping instead. She described the trip to Godric's Hollow, though she glossed over the part where she had nearly died. She also left out the part where Ron had left and then come back. She told them of their capture, and their rescue. Again she brushed by the truth, saying that she had been "interrogated" rather than tortured. She told them of Dobby saving them and sending them to Shell Cottage. Then she described their break in at Gringots, and why they had broken in to one of the most heavily guarded buildings in the Wizarding world. She told them of their return to Hogwarts, and then the final battle. Lastly she told them how she had returned to Ron's house and started planning their trip to Australia.

Her parents were good listeners; she did not interrupt her once. Her mother blanched at some points of the story, gasped and covered her mouth with her hands in others. At the most dangerous parts, her father gripped the edge of his chair as if in physical pain. When she had finished talking, over an hour later, they sat there in silence, thinking about all she had told them.

"We should be angry with you," her father said, not looking at his daughter. Hermione swallowed hard, waiting for him to continue. He spoke again, still addressing the rug at his feet. "You were incredibly naïve and foolish, going and putting yourself in danger. And doing all of this without our consent…it's awful."

Hermione wanted to agree with him, she wanted to say how sorry she was for ruining their lives and leaving without telling them. But something in her throat prevented her from talking. She sat there on the edge of her chair, waiting.

Her father finally looked up, and when he did, he had tears in his eyes. Hermione felt some of her own leak out of the corner of her eyes. Until this moment, she didn't know that her eyes were brimming with tears. A loud sniff on the other side of the fireplace told her that her mother was crying too.

"You've been so brave," her father whispered, his eyes shining with tears. Hermione hear herself let out a sob as the tears fell heavily, blinding her.

"We…we're so proud of you," her mother said, her voice sounding as though she had a very bad cold. Hermione could not stop crying. It was all so overwhelming: her parents memories were back, nothing had been damaged, they did not hate her, they were _proud_ of her.

Through her tears she saw her parents stand up and rush over to embrace her. She hugged them back, sobbing uncontrollably now. She did not know that someone could cry so much from being so happy.

When they all released each other, they stood back to look at one another, tears tracking lines down all three of their faces. She saw her mother, who was both laughing and crying at the same time, and her father, who was now dry eyed and grinning. Hermione brushed away the tears from her eyes, a smile spreading over her face.

_Everything was alright. Everything was going to be fine._

She repeated those words in her head over and over again, because she could not believe them. She did not understand what she had done to be standing in front of her parents. Her parents who were not angry with her, who did not hate her.

The doorbell rang again, the sound of it knocking them all back down to earth. The three of them stared reluctantly at each other, none of them wanting to break the spell and leave the room. As the bell rang a second time, Hermione's father sighed and left the room. From the living room, she heard him open the door.

"Ah…um, hello. We…we're...that is, we…" a familiar voice said, floating into the living room, which was next to the foyer. Hermione knew that voice. She jumped in the air in surprise and ran out of the living room, her mother following her closely, and walked to the front door.

There stood Ron, looking tremendously anxious. A few feet behind him stood Harry, who was shuffling his feet. When Ron saw Hermione come into the room, he walked past Mr. Granger, ignoring his look of utter shock, and ran to her.

"Hermione, you're okay! Everything went alright!" he exclaimed, hugging her and kising her quicly on the lips. She laughed embarrassedly, hugging him back. It would have been incredibly awkward, but Hermione was too happy to care.

When they broke away, her mother said, "So, this is Ron?"

Ron's ears glowed red as he realized what he had just done. "The hair gives it away, doesn't it?" he asked, touching the top of his head. From the front door, where Harry still stood, there was laughter. Mr. Granger ushered him in and shut the door behind him.

"No, but they way you look at my daughter does," Mrs. Granger said, her brown eyes flickering back and forth between the two.

Hermione blushed scarlet, and Ron's ears turned even redder. An uncomfortable silence filled the foyer as the five of them stared at each other, unsure of what to do next.

"Mum, dad, this is Ron and Harry," Hermione said unnecessarily, just to break the silence.

"Hello Mr. and Mrs. Granger, it's very nice to meet you," Ron mumbled looking down at the floor. Hermione smiled kindly at his expression, and took a step closer to him. She was aware that her parents were watching her, but she did not care. Mrs. Granger was observing the two of them carefully, a slow smiling playing at the corner of her mouth. She turned to exchange a look with her husband, who was scrutinizing Hermione and Ron as well. Mr. Granger opened his mouth to speak, but Mrs. Granger silenced him with a shake of her head, and Hermione was grateful; after all of the talking she had done today, she did not want to have to sit down and explain everything about Ron. Mr. Granger inclined his head slightly, examining Ron. Ron moved closer to Hermione, as if he were protecting her. Something about this gesture made Mr. Granger smile, and he turned from the two of them, addressing his wife.

"Well, we've had a long day today, what do you say we take this lot out to lunch?" he asked, slipping an arm around Hermione's mother's arm. She nodded in agreement and turned to Hermione.

"That sounds perfect," Hermione said after a moment. She had been too busy analyzing what had just happened to think clearly. From her side, Ron nodded animatedly; with Hermione gone all morning there was a good chance that he had not eaten yet.

"Well, it's settled then. We always go to this nice little café by the water, does that sound alright?" Mrs. Granger asked the three teenagers in front of her, who all nodded.

"I'll drive," Mr. Granger said, taking a set of keys off of the table near the front door and swinging them around his pointer finger. "The garage is this way, past the kitchen," he said, leading them through a doorway into the kitchen.

The kitchen was comfortable as well, full of dark woods and bright paintings. There was a large counter in the middle of it, where Hermione guessed they entertained guests. In the corner, near the large picture window that faced the ocean was the infamous table. Now, when she was inside the house instead of standing in the shadows outside, it looked much warmer and more inviting.

The car ride to the restaurant was regrettably very short but comfortable: Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been forced to squeeze into the backseat. This would have been a bad thing if Hermione hand not spent the entire ride with her body pressed very firmly against Ron's. Under the watch of her parents and Harry, they could do no more than exchange flirtatious glances when no one was watching.

The restaurant the Grangers had taken them too was a quaint outdoor café with a long row of tables that faced the rippling blue-green ocean. Hermione found herself gazing out at the water, her eyes drawn to the simple beauty of it. Ron's hand found hers under the table and – making sure no one had noticed – she took it. She spent the entirety of lunch bumping her foot against Ron's and feeling the shiver of excitement run up her spine when he nudged her back.

Their plates had just been cleared away when Hermione looked up and saw a familiar face in the crowd. Her eyes widened and she bit her bottom lip, trying to hold back her excitement.

"Harry," she said, her voice quivering, "Harry look behind you."

Harry swiveled around to follow the direction of her gaze and let out a yelp, standing up so fast that he upended his chair and sent it flying.

Ginny stood about ten feet away, her arms laden with luggage and looking both tired and happy. When she spotted them at the table, she rushed over, shedding her suitcases and bags. Before any of them could say anything, she launched herself at Harry, who very eagerly reciprocated her fervent greeting. Hermione looked at Ron, who was nothing short of shocked and disgusted as he watched his sister kiss his best friend a foot away. Many people stopped what they were doing and started clapping. Over the applause and Ron's continual exclamations of revulsion and horror, Hermione, her cheeks turning pink, said embarassedly, "Mum, dad this is Ginny."

They broke apart for a moment, though they still had their arms around each other. "You came here," Harry said, as if he could not quite believe it himself.

"I was tired of you being the hero," Ginny said, smiling.

Harry laughed, "I was tired of playing one," he replied, and they embraced again.

When Harry and Ginny finally broke apart, Ron stared at his sister with a look of great dislike and said, rather unkindly, "How did you get here?"

Ginny glanced at Hermione, who shook her head a fraction of an inch. The envelope she had left Ginny, with an extra plane ticket and a note that said: _The plane leaves two hours after ours. We'll be in Charlottesville_ would remain a secret between them, never told to anyone else.

"I've been saving my money up," she said evasively, pulling up a chair and shaking hands with Mr. and Mrs. Granger unabashedly.

After the bill was paid and they left the café, Mr. and Mrs. Granger insisted on giving the four of them a tour of the town, and they readily agreed, having no other plans in mind. Charlottesville turned out to be a charming little town with lots of little shops and touristy attractions. As they went into an old-fashioned ice cream shop, Hermione felt Ron grab her hand and lead her aside. Harry paused at the door and she shook her head, telling him to go in without them. He gave them a knowing look and shut the door behind him.

The ice cream shop was just on the water, a sidewalk away from the beach. Ron led her across the cement path and onto the sand, finally turning to her. She gave him a questioning look.

Ron said nothing. Instead, he pushed her hair, which was dancing around her face in the ocean breeze, out of her face and took her chin in his hand. Very gently he leaned down and placed a kiss on her lips. She leaned back a little, surveying his grinning face. She laughed and leaned in closer, placing her hands in his chest and kissing him back. He reciprocated by encircling his arms around her and holding her close. Their lips parted and Hermione felt her heart being taken out with the tide of the ocean water. It was beautiful and perfect. They kissed for a long time, the water beating a wonderful rhythm between them. When they broke apart, Ron kept his arms wrapped around Hermione.

"If Harry could do that in public," Ron said, "Then I can too," he said, his blue eyes sparkling as he looked at Hermione. He placed another short kiss on her lips. Hermione laughed again and leaned in for a second time, her breath fluttering in her chest.

**A.N. – Wow, that was insanely long. I hope you are all liked this one!**

**Again, reviews would be amazing!!**


	10. All the Time in the World

_Author's Note: Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. They were all so amazing! I'm sorry I haven't been able to update sooner…I hope you all like this chapter!_

Chapter Ten:

Hermione woke up the next morning fully and suddenly; it was as though she had never been sleeping. In a sudden rush all that had happened the day before flooded her brain, making everything fuzzy. A smile spread across her face as she began to remember; it was as though she was recalling a dream, an incredibly perfect dream. She sat up in bed and for the second time in a very short span of time, she felt her head spin. She closed her eyes for a second, steadying herself, then opened them again, looking around.

A bright sliver of light was streaming though the flap at the tent's opening. It ran the length of the tent, crossing the three people that lay sleeping in what had once been a living room. The night before had caused a small amount of trouble; there had been a certain awkwardness regarding sleeping arrangements. In Ron's defense, Hermione though to herself, it must have been uncomfortable sleeping next to your best friend and his girlfriend, who also happened to be your younger sister. In the end, Harry and Ginny had pushed two camping cots next to each other and Ron, who had gone to bed in high dudgeon, had pushed his bed as far away from the two as possible. Hermione slowly pushed back the blankets and crept out of the tent, before any of the others could wake up.

It was early, though Hermione could not tell what time exactly. The sun was just making its way above the clear, blue water. Hermione paused for a second, unable to ignore the beauty of it. A light mist hung above the water, the shimmery silver making everything seem dreamlike. She made a detour to her parents' house, walking across the sand and to the wooden dock.

The wood scratched at her feet, but she ignored it. The sunrise, and everything it seemed to represent enchanted her; she couldn't take her eyes off of it. Distantly, she could hear someone behind her, but she couldn't turn around. To tear her eyes away from what was in front of her seemed impossible, cruel. And then a voice interrupted her, breaking into her thoughts.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Hermione turned around slowly, smiling at the sound of that voice, the one she had missed for so long. Her mother stood a few feet behind her, her eyes flickering from the ocean to her daughter and then back again.

"Yes," Hermione whispered; talking seemed indecent in front of such beauty. "I was on my way to your house and I – I just…I just got caught up in it," Hermione said, blushing a little. Being away seemed to have created a very thin barrier between her and her and her parents. She felt humbled in front of them, as though she needed to impress them and make everything up to them.

"I was just going to take a walk, and I was wondering if you'd like to join me?" Hermione's mother asked, her arms wrapped around her chest. Hermione wondered if she could feel the barrier too.

Hermione nodded gratefully: a walk sounded perfect. She gave one last look at the water, knowing that it would be different when she returned, before turning to her mother and walking off the dock

They walked a few times along the block. Hermione realized how perfect a place Charlottesville was. The street was filled with rows of tiny, quaint little cottages painted bright, cheery colors. The sound of the ocean was a constant heartbeat in the background, setting a pace for the people that lived there. Hermione glanced at her mother as they set out and smiled to herself: her mother seemed happy; genuinely, truly happy.

Their conversation ran far and wide. Hermione filled her mother in on everything that had happened in the last year that she had brushed over the night before. When she thought that she could not relive it anymore, her mother took over, telling her about their life in Charlottesville. It seemed as though bits and pieces were coming back to her. When Hermione had first switched their memories, they had no recollection of being in Australia, but as time passed, small parts of their other life began to slip in.

She told Hermione of the dentistry practice she and Mr. Granger had set up in the center of town. She told her how she was a member of the town gardening club, and how Hermione's father had joined the neighborhood book club. As Hermione listened to her mother talk about their relaxed, idyllic life, a terrifying though entered her mind: what if they did not want to leave? But she pushed this to the back of her thoughts; she had done so much in the last few days, she did not want to worry anymore.

The sun was fully up by the time they returned to the cottage, the sun beating down hard on the sand. She followed her mother into the kitchen, where he father was sitting at the table, reading a newspaper. He looked up as they entered, a smile spreading across his face.

"Good morning," he said, putting down his paper and giving Hermione a kiss on the cheek as she sat down next to him. Hermione felt her cheeks glow with pleasure. It felt wonderful to have her parents back.

Mrs. Granger placed a steaming mug of tea down on the table, and then sat down in front of her. Hermione looked back and forth between her parents.

"So," she asked, "what are your plans for today?"

Hermione's parents looked at each other, and Hermione felt her heart speed up in anticipation.

"We – we were thinking about going in to the office. I know it sounds horrible but we have jobs here and…and we can't cancel on such short notice," Mr. Granger said apologetically.

"We don't want to do it," Hermione's mother added, and her father nodded earnestly. "But we really…we have no choice."

"That's alright, we did sort of drop by… unannounced. Besides, it might be nice to just walk around and sight see," Hermione said, sipping her tea. She could taste the sugar in it and smiled knowing her mother had known just the right amount to add.

"And tonight we can all have dinner together," Hermione's mother said, her gaze falling on Hermione.

"That sounds perfect," Hermione smiled. And it did; she couldn't think of anything better than spending a long, lazy day on the beaches of Australia with her friends, and spending the evening with her parents.

"Well then, if you're alright with this, then we should probably get ready. It's eight and we really should get in by nine," Hermione's father said, standing up and folding the paper.

Hermione had a sudden idea. "Mum?" she asked, "Do you…would you mind if I used the kitchen? I would like to make breakfast for everyone," she said.

Hermione's mother smiled. "Of course dear, the house is open to you, you don't have to ask. This is your home too, you know"

Hermione smiled broadly and leapt from the table, knocking her chair over. She crossed the room and embraced her mother. There was something about her last words that had moved her. She had felt the sudden need hold her mother, as if to confirm that what was happening was really true.

Her parents left to get ready for work, and Hermione was left to her own devices in the foreign kitchen. But she found that it was easy to find her way around; it was set up exactly like the kitchen in their old home. She smiled at the familiarity of it all and started moving around the kitchen with ease. As she stood on tiptoe to reach the flour, which was perched on the top shelf, she heard the sounds of someone approaching.

"Wow," said a voice behind her. Hermione smiled at the sound of the voice and turned around, forgetting about the flour. Ron stood leaning against the doorframe, his lanky legs stretched out impossibly. He was wearing a pair of pajama pants that exposed a few inches of ankles and a white shirt with a hole in the sleeve.

"What?" she asked, moving toward him, a smile playing on her face.

"I…nothing. It was just…you, standing there. I don't know," Ron said, shaking his head. Hermione smiled and he grinned back. He stepped out of the doorway and she could feel his hands inching toward her. She stepped closer, anxious for him to continue. He wrapped his arms around her back, and pulled her closer to him. He took his thumb and forefinger and took her chin, bringing it closer to him. Then, very gently, he kissed her.

They stood there kissing for a while, and Hermione could feel the blood slowly rush to her head and out of her body, making her head feel dizzy and her body feel as though it was made of nothing.

When they finally broke apart, Ron's eyes had a glazed look to them, as if he had just woken up from a wonderful dream. Hermione laughed and pulled back a little. Groaning lightheartedly, Ron grabbed her wrist, trying to bring her back. She laughed again and wiggled out of his grip.

"I can't," she apologized, "I'm making breakfast."

"Well, in that case," Ron said, smiling, "I can't interrupt you."

Hermione laughed and resumed her pursuit of the flour, which was just beyond her reach. Ron, who had sat down at the kitchen table, stood up and took the flour down with ease. Hermione put her hands on her hips in mock anger.

"I could have gotten that, you know," she said, biting her bottom lip to keep from laughing. Ron laughed at her expression.

"I'm sure you could have," he said, humoring her and handing the flour to her.

They were standing very close; Hermione was sure Ron had done this on purpose. Slowly, he reached out and his hand grazed her hip. Gently, he brought her closer to him, his hands on her waist. Hermione felt her hands release the bag of sugar, and it exploded around them as it hit the floor, but she didn't care. All that she could focus on was Ron's eyes staring into hers, the blue of them taking up every available spot in her brain.

When he leaned down to kiss her again, she didn't protest, because she knew as well as he did that she wanted it. His hands ran through her hair as hers ran up and down his chest. They embraced frantically, as if there was not enough time in the universe to do everything.

"Gross, and I haven't even had breakfast yet," came another voice, breaking though this heaven. Hermione and Ron broke apart, both extremely reluctantly. Ron's hands were on Hermione's lower back, and hers were grabbing at the front of his shirt. In this rather erotic position they turned to see the source of the noise. It was Ginny, who had clearly just awoken.

"If you can do what you did yesterday in the middle of a bloody restaurant, then I can do whatever I want," Ron said, flaring up at once. Her let go of Hermione and turned on his sister. Hermione leaned against the counter; with Ron gone there was nothing to hold her up.

She watched as Ginny's widened eyes surveyed the scene, and Hermione followed them. There was a halo of white flour encircling them like some sort of spotlight. There was also a light dusting of white on their clothes, reaching up to their knees.

"What happened in here? It looks as though it snowed," said another voice behind Ginny as Harry entered the kitchen, his eyes flickering from Ron to Hermione and back again. Hermione felt herself blushing; the temperature in the kitchen seemed to have increased dramatically.

"I was making pancakes and I dropped the flour," Hermione said, skipping many of the details. Though judging by the look on Harry's face, he had deducted as much and did not want his thoughts confirmed.

"Will they be ready soon? I'm starving," Harry said, clearing the path for the four of them and leaving the uncomfortable situation behind them.

"I…yes, I just have to clean…" Hermione started, but Ginny was quicker than she was. She whipped out her wand and with a flick, the flour vanished. Hermione gave a work of thanks, and then began bustling around the kitchen, wanting to avoid eye contact with everyone in the room.

They were just sitting down to eat when Hermione's parents came downstairs, dressed and ready for work. They each kissed their daughter and said good morning to the others before rushing out of the kitchen and into the garage.

"So, what will we do today?" Ginny asked, putting a stack of pancakes on her plate and handing the serving fork to Hermione.

"I don't know, I was thinking we could just stay here, it would be nice to just…" she broke off, not knowing exactly what she wanted to say.

"To just do nothing?" Harry supplied, and Hermione laughed graciously; that was just what she had meant.

After this, the mood seemed to lighten to almost airless as they all joked and laughed. They realized that they had all the time in the world and nothing to fill it with; the luxury of this made them feel extremely lucky.

They spent the rest of the day doing exactly what Harry had proposed: nothing. After breakfast, Harry and Ron offered to clean the dishes. Then, they returned to the tent and lay around for a few hours, relishing the time. Once they started getting bored, Ginny changed into a swimsuit and announced she was going for a swim. A few minutes after she left, Harry stood up and decided to go swimming too. Hermione grinned knowingly at him, but said nothing. Instead, she got off the bed and curled up on a couch, reading a book. With all of the excitement of the last few days, she had had very little time to read. Now, she welcomed the hours she could just curl up and get lost in the inked words in front of her.

It turned out that reading was not as pleasurable as she had planned. Ron, who was obviously uncomfortable with the fact that his sister and best friend were swimming together less than a hundred feet away, made no effort to keep this discomfort private. He tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair and looked at the mouth of the tent so frequently, Hermione worried he would give himself whiplash. He also started muttering threateningly under his breath after a loud shriek of Ginny's broke through the hot summer air.

"If it's bothering you so much just got out there," Hermione said, flipping a page with more force than was warranted as the tension mounted to an almost unbearable point.

"I can't," Ron said through gritted teeth. "We – Harry and I – promised that we wouldn't get into each other's…business," Ron said, his ears reddening.

Hermione raised her eyebrows, caught between amusement and curiosity. "What does that mean?" she asked, shutting her book.

"It means that he doesn't talk about Ginny and I don't talk to him about Ginny…and I don't talk about you and he can't ask about you," Ron said, refusing to look at her.

Hermione wasn't sure if she should laugh or not. "Fine, but you have to do something, you're going to hurt your neck or something," she said. Ron looked up at her hopefully, and she read his expression correctly.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" she asked him. He rolled his eyes; this was clearly not what he wanted to do in his spare time, but Hermione could see himself weighing the options.

"Fine," he sighed, standing up reluctantly.

"Good, because when I was taking a walk with my mother this morning, I saw that there was a park at the end of the street. It looked like it has some nice…private areas," Hermione said, casting her book aside.

"That walk is started to sound better," Ron grinned, taking his hand in hers.

The two of them spent the rest of the afternoon in the park. Hermione had been right, there were many secluded areas where the trees bent over, casting shadows and small hiding places.

They returned to the cottage as the sun was setting, walking through the door at almost exactly the same time as Hermione's parents did. The two of them dropped hands immediately, and Hermione felt herself blush, wondering if their swollen lips and mussed hair would give them away. From next to her, Ron was nervously running his hand through his hair.

If Hermione's parents saw them together, they ignored it. Mrs. Granger kissed her on the forehead as Mr. Granger opened the trunk. Hermione didn't like the knowing look in her mother's eye, but she did not address it.

"We stopped off at the grocery store, we thought it might be nice to make dinner," Hermione's mother explained as her father began to unload brown paper bags. Ron hastened to help him and Hermione went out to the tent to fetch Harry and Ginny.

An hour and a half later, they were all seated around a table heavily laden with food. Hermione's mother was a wonderful cook, and conversation flowed easily as dishes were passed around. Laughter rang out in abundance, their voices mixing into one perfect song. With so many people seated around such a small table – it was really meant to seat four – Hermione found it difficult to find Ron's foot under the table. Throughout the meal, when they would connect, Hermione would feel the familiar chill run down her spine as his foot found hers, and she found herself dropping her fork on more than one occasion.

After dinner, they all moved out to the patio, where the sun was setting spectacularly over the rolling waves. Hermione and her mother sat on the steps leading down to the beach, instantly falling into the easy stream of conversation. Ron, Harry, and Mr. Granger sat around the patio table, where the conversation was punctuated more often with pauses. Ginny spread out on a chair and watched the water, content on being left alone.

As darkness settled around the cottage, they headed back into the kitchen to have one last cup of tea before setting off for bed. The talk was quieter now, the lull of sleepiness settling in. At ten o' clock, Hermione's parents left for bed, though they assured the four that they were welcome to stay inside if they'd like.

Hermione boiled another teapot of water as Ginny cuddled up closer to Harry. She watched as Ron eyed them carefully, but said nothing. The four of them sat at the kitchen table in a hushed, comfortable silence. When Ginny began to yawn, they decided to return to the tent.

Hermione was the last to use the bathroom, and when she got out she found that Ron was no longer in the tent. She turned to Harry, who was sitting in bed, talking to Ginny.

"Do you know where Ron is?" she asked.

Harry turned to her, as if he had not realized she was still there. "Oh, I think he said he needed to step out for a moment."

Harry's eyes met hers and understood her concern. "He looked fine," he answered, before she could even open her mouth. She smiled, then headed for the opening in the tent.

"Thank you. I think I'll go find him," she called back to them, but they were not listening. Hermione smiled to herself; giving Ginny the extra ticket had been the right thing to do. She knew that Harry would play the part of the hero reluctantly; she knew that what he really wanted was Ginny to be there with them. And she knew that if was up to her to bring Ginny.

From the light of the moon, she could see a figure sitting on the end of the dock. She made her way to him slightly reluctantly, not knowing if he'd want her company. He looked up at her as she reached him, with her eyes she asked him if she could sit down. With his, he said yes.

Hermione sat down and put her bare feet into the water, which was a pleasant temperature after spending all day in the sun. She put her hands behind her and leaned back, enjoying the serenity of the night. The sky was an inky blue, the dept of it absorbing everything in the world.

"So, everything worked out, didn't it?" Ron asked, tilting his face toward hers. He had rolled up his jeans and his long legs hung over the dock into the ocean. In the water, his foot grazed hers, and Hermione felt a familiar sense of pleasure.

"Yes," she said breathlessly. "I have no idea how it all happened, but it did. It's incredible; I still can't believe I'm here. I still can't believe it sometimes…I still have to pinch myself to make sure I won't wake up," Hermione said, so many emotions rushing out of her at once. It was as though all of her thoughts and feelings were finally able to be released. Now that she knew there was nothing more to worry about, she felt safe admitting her fears, for there was no way they could get to her.

The conversation came easily from there. In all of the hectic plans and commotion of the past few days, there had been very little time to talk. Once they started, it didn't seem as though they could stop. Their banter covered nearly everything: they realized that they had so much to talk about over the last year. As the talked, they unconsciously moved closer to each other, so that eventually there legs were pressed into each other, Ron's arm stretched behind her back.

Hermione didn't realize how long they had been sitting out here until a tiny splinter of pink crept into the sky. Then, the sun began to peak into the horizon. Hermione looked at Ron, and by the expression on his face, she could tell he was just as shocked as she was that they had talked all night long.

"I completely lost track of the time," Hermione said in a hushed voice. Ron laughed softly.

They watched the sunrise; this one was, if possible, even more glorious than the morning before. The sun came in with an eruption of pinks and oranges, chasing the blacks of night away.

The change of temperature caused a light mist to fall over the water, causing a glow from the burnished sun. It was so beautiful it almost made Hermione panic, knowing that she could not capture it, knowing that it would not last forever.

Hermione looked over at Ron, and her heart fluttered to a stop. He was looking nervous, his hands twisting themselves in his lap. She watched him, wondering what was causing him to look so anxious. She opened her mouth to speak, but Ron got there first.

"Bill and Fleur are going to have a baby," he said, not looking at her, his hands still in his lap.

Hermione was taken aback; of everything she was preparing herself to hear him say, this was certainly not on her list, "I…oh. That's wonderful," she said, completely disarmed.

"They're telling everyone while we're in Australia," Ron explained. His ears were turning pink.

"How did you find out about it then?" she asked, eager to move the conversation along now that she was sure it was not going to bring anything bad. A baby surely would not bring bad news.

Ron's ears turned pinker in the rosy glow of the sunrise. "I – I walked in on them, on Fleur, when she was telling Bill," he muttered. Hermione tried hard not to laugh; it was so very much like Ron to walk in on something so important.

"That's such good news, Ron. You're going to be an uncle," Hermione said smiling, grasping his hand. Ron smiled.

"Yeah, I know," he said, his voice quiet. He bit his lip, he was looking nervous again. "They're going to move back into the Burrow," he added.

"What?" Hermione asked, wondering why he was telling her this.

"Bill and Fleur, they're going to move back in, so mum can help with the baby. Well, Bill sad they were going to ask mum and dad, but I doubt they'd say no."

Hermione nodded, because she didn't know what else to do. She felt her heart begin to beat faster again; Ron still looked nervous.

"Then, once they have a grasp on the whole parenthood thing, they're going to find a new house, because Shell Cottage is much too small to have a family in," Ron continued, his fingers growing whiter as he twisted them in his lap.

Hermione made a small noise in the back of her throat. She did not know why Ron was telling her all of this, and judging by the look of fear on Ron's face, she wasn't sure if she even wanted to know.

"Bill asked if I wanted Shell Cottage," Ron said, his voice so soft, Hermione almost missed it. She felt her heart fell; this was the reason why he was nervous. If Ron moved to Shell Cottage, they would not be together all the time, something they had gotten very used to. Hermione felt something block her throat, whether it was sadness or nerves she did not know.

"Oh," she whispered, her voice vanishing into the pink sky. Ron looked at her, his face more anxious than ever. Hermione could not bring herself to meet his eyes, she did not want to know what she would find in them.

"I was wondering...," Ron said, taking another deep breath, "ifyou'dwanttomoveintherewithme," he said in a rush, his words blending together, his ears glowing red.

Hermione looked up, her eyebrows furrowed, "What?" she asked.

Ron took a deep breath, as if preparing himself for a great battle. "I – was – wondering – if – you – wanted – to – move – in – there – with – me," Ron said, breaking up the words and setting them far apart so that each one felt in front of them.

Hermione let what he said sink in; she had been so nervous it had formed somewhat of a wall between her and the rest of the world.

"Move to Shell Cottage…with you?" she asked softly, not daring to believe what she was saying was true.

Ron nodded. "I…you don't have to answer right away. It would be us …probably Harry and maybe Ginny. I was just wondering…" he said, trailing off.

Hermione grabbed Ron's hand, "Ron," she said, unable to contain herself, "Ron, yes. Yes, I'd love to. I'd love to move to Shell Cottage with you," she said, turning toward him and fixing her eyes on him for the first time since he had breached the conversation. There was only happiness in his face; all of the anxiety was gone.

"Hermione that…that's…I can't believe…you…you said…you said yes…" Ron said, apparently so happy he lost the gift of speech. To cover up this fact, he leaned in and planted a kiss on her lips. Hermione felt herself let out a deep sigh of relief and happiness.

The sky was still a rosy pink when they broke apart, their breath coming out in short spurts as they gasped for air. Hermione looked out at the water, as if it held the answer to all of her happiness. All she could see was the beauty of it all: the colors and the mist, the dreamlike existence.

Suddenly, Hermione was overcome with a reckless idea. What sat in front of her was so perfect, she wanted more than anything to be a part of it. Everything churned in her head and clouded the rational part of her brain. She wanted to do something, anything, to let out at least a portion of what she was feeling inside. She stood up, pulling Ron with her. He gave her a questioning look, but she shook her head.

"Ron," she said, her voice coming quickly as she tried to gauge what she was about to do, "let's go swimming."

Ron looked taken aback; she knew he was not expecting that. "But we're not wearing bathing suits," he said slowly, giving her a questioning look.

Hermione laughed. It was loud and didn't fit in, but she didn't mind. "I don't care, I don't. I just…" but she never finished the sentence. She stripped off her shirt before her mind could tell her what an idiotic thing she was doing. For the first time in her life, she acted without analyzing. It was terrifying and liberating at the same time.

She stood there in the pink light of dawn in her bra and shorts, feeling extremely stupid. For a moment, she thought Ron would not do anything. As this thought occurred to her, she realized how utterly humiliating it would be, the aftermath of her recklessness.

Apparently, Ron was only stunned. He blinked several times, as if reassuring himself that this was not a dream. Then, he grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled it off, so that he stood there bare-chested in the half light. Hermione smiled, relieved.

Together, their hands clasped together between them, they leapt off the dock and into the water. The mist over the ocean cast a mirror-like reflection on the sky, so that it felt as though they were in a molten pool, a sea of gold.

Hermione tilted her head back, wondering if this was real. She looked at Ron, and knew he was feeling the same way. She shook her hair out of her face, her laugh splitting the air before it was absorbed into the endlessness of it.

They played around in the water, splashing and pushing each other until Hermione's stomach hurt from laughing so much. Then, the just drifted, floating serenely in their sea of gold. It was a type of magic that Hermione had never known, a type that could never be created, that could never be taught or mastered.

She watched as the last of the pinks and oranges painted their way into the sky. It was as though an artist had created it; Hermione wondered if something this perfect could ever happen naturally. As she turned around to face Ron, she found that he had moved closer to her, his face inches away.

Her feet tried to reach down and touched the rocky bottom, but they were too deep in. She wondered if she would drown, but she didn't have time to contemplate this as their lips met. Ron's hands, which were under the water, lifted her up and she felt herself shiver with excitement.

There was something different about this kiss. Perhaps it was the fact that he was holding her, completely supporting her. Perhaps it was that their bare skin touched. Perhaps it was that they had stayed up all night, or that she had agreed to move into a house with him, where they would sometimes be very alone. Perhaps it was the beauty of everything that surrounded them and made them feel so small in such a big world. Whatever it was, it was like a current pulsing from her body to his, and then back again.

Hermione could feel Ron's hands, strong and supportive, on her waist as he held her, but the feeling that she was going to fall stayed with her. The recklessness flowed through her veins again as she wrapped her legs around his waist. She could feel him shiver as she did this, and her heart felt like it was going to break free of her chest. His hands ran themselves up and down her back, and she could tell the feeling of her skin under his fingers made him nervous.

They kissed for what seemed like an eternity, for they lost track of time ages ago. All they had was one another, two seemingly infinitesimal figures, as they groped each other with mounting passion. They revolved on the spot, drifting as they came up for air then kissing again, neither one wanting to break the magic that had been created.

When they finally broke apart, Hermione removed her legs from Ron's waist, but he kept holding her, for she could not stand alone. They stared at each other, the rosy hues of the sky mixing with the pinks and oranges of the ocean so that they did not know where they were. Hermione's heart pounded loudly, and she wondered if Ron could hear it.

He was looking at her in a way he had never done before, and it made Hermione shiver happily yet feel nervous at the same time. They stared at each other in apprehension, a different feeling mixing into the air.

"I love you," he whispered. The words hung between them in the early morning air, the three words causing a presence unto them.

"I love you," she whispered back, a smile spreading across her face. He grinned too, and Hermione thought it was the most wonderful thing she had ever seen.

They embraced again, the exchange between them changing something between them. Hermione didn't know how to describe it – it was an invisible bond that had formed with what they had said. It was like a promise, only more real.

They stood revolving on the spot, holding each other underneath the watercolor sky. Hermione knew that this was perfection, for here, as the early morning sun beat down on them, she knew that she had everything she would ever need.

_Author's Note: I hope everyone is okay with the route I took, Ron inheriting Shell Cottage and asking Hermione was just something that came to me. I hope you all liked the "I love you" bit, I thought a lot about when the right time to do it would be, and I hope that was it. Reviews would be amazing!!!_

_Also, thank you to everyone who has put me/this story on their list of favorites or alerts. As an aspiring author, it means a great deal to me, as do all of your fantastic reviews!_


	11. The Beach

_Author's Note: Thank you a thousand times to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! They were all absolutely amazing! I hope you like this next chapter! _

Chapter Eleven:

As the blues chased away the pink in the sky, a little piece of the magic that had surrounded Ron and Hermione broke. The sun now beat brilliantly down on them, the mist was gone. They both knew that they needed to get out and join the real world, but they were hesitant. So much had happened here, so much had changed, Hermione never wanted to leave. She knew it was irrational, but that morning had seemed as though it belonged to someone else's life, and she was scared that by leaving this place, all that had happened would vanish.

"We probably should get out, everyone's going to wonder where we are," Ron said, but by the resigned tone of his voice, Hermione knew he was feeling the same way she was.

She nodded, because she couldn't find her voice. Slowly, they made their way back to the dock, where their shirts lay in a heap a few feet away. Again, Hermione marveled at her daring, wondering what had possessed her to baldly take off her shirt and announce that she was going swimming. Even thinking about it now made her cheeks turn pink. So many things could have gone wrong last night, but miraculously, incredibly, they hadn't.

On the dock, there was a certain amount of awkwardness as they pulled on their shirts and dried off their hair. They kept their eyes adverted, but Hermione could feel Ron looking at her out of the corner of his eye. She didn't tell him that she knew, or that she wanted him to stop, simply because she didn't.

They walked back to the house hand in hand, Hermione shivering out of happiness. She wondered how long she could keep everything in before she exploded. She gave Ron a sideways look, and felt her heart flutter as her eyes met his. His fingers tightened a little, grabbing hers harder, and she smiled.

In the kitchen, it felt as though there was a hot, glaring spotlight pointed at them. Everyone else had begun eating, and when Ron and Hermione entered, they stopped to look. Hermione looked resolutely at the floor, wanting more than anything to disappear. The silence stretched on endlessly. The scene was absurdly frozen as the four around the table were paused mid-motion to look at the two in the doorway. Hermione praying that someone, or something, would end it soon; it was unbearable.

"Oh, good you didn't drown. We were wondering where you'd gotten to," Ginny said finally. Hermione grimaced; it was not what she had hoped for, but it was something.

At the sound of Ginny's voice, the people at the table seemed to remember themselves and began moving again. Mr. Granger ruffled his paper, cleared his throat, and hid behind the Sports section. Mrs. Granger jumped up and started pouring tea for Ron and Hermione, overflowing one so that hot tea seeped over and ran along the table. She made no move to clean it up. Harry, not knowing what to do, began shoveling eggs into his mouth, his eyes fixed on his plate. Ginny, who had stood up, stared at Ron and Hermione, her eyes flickering from one to the other, a quizzical look hidden behind her smile.

As they made their way over to the vacant chairs, Hermione realized Ron had not let go of her hand. She smiled at this, for the fact that he had done that meant something to her, something she could not exactly put into words.

"So," Hermione said loudly, with an air of wanting to erase everything that had happened in the last five minutes, "So, what are we going to do today?"

Harry looked up from his plate, but his eyes revealed nothing, "Well, Ginny and I were thinking about going to the beach. Your parents were telling us about a public one that's nice," Harry said, looking at a spot between Ron and Hermione.

"But if you two have had too much swimming for one day, we can do something else," Ginny said, barely concealing her grin. Hermione didn't like the look Ginny was giving them, but it was marginally better that Harry's refusal to look at them. For as awkward as Harry was feeling, Ginny seemed to be feeling just as happy.

"No, that sounds good," Ron said, "It might be nice to have a look around the town," he added, reaching across the table to take a stack of toast.

Hermione took some fruit from the bowl in front of her, but she didn't think she could eat it. She was moving in to Shell Cottage. With Ron. The thought of it made her dizzy and so happy, she doubted she could eat.

"Darling, are you alright?" Mrs. Granger asked from down the table. She was looking at her daughter, and Hermione took this as a good sign.

"I – yes. I'm just not very hungry," Hermione said truthfully.

Hermione's parents got up to leave for work ten minutes later. Both kissed Hermione on the cheek and said goodbye to the others. Hermione could not help but notice that her father's eyes flickered to Ron more often. Ron seemed to have registered this too; his grip on Hermione's hand became viselike, and his ears turned a burning shade of red. But he met Hermione's father's gaze full on, never looking away. Hermione felt the same feeling she had ten minutes when she had realized that Ron had not let go of her hand.

Once her parents had left, the atmosphere in the kitchen changed noticeably. They were all teenagers, and they all understood. Harry still refused to look at Ron and Hermione, but his eyes did not have the same glazed look, and he stopped shoving food into his mouth.

"How was you swim?" Ginny asked, clearly intent on making this as uncomfortable as possible. Hermione knew that Ron had endlessly badgered Ginny for information about what she had Harry had done, and now that the tables were turned, she was ready to get revenge. Hermione understood what Ginny was feeling, but it did not make her more eager to answer the question.

"It was very nice, thank you for asking," Ron said loudly from beside her. Hermione looked up to see brother and sister glaring at each other, both refusing to look away. Remarkably, it was Ginny who broke first, blinking rapidly and looking down at her lap.

"Do you know where the beach is?" Hermione asked, desperately wanting to turn everything back to normal.

"Yes," Harry said, temporarily forgetting that he wasn't supposed to be looking at her, "It's near the town center, your parents said we'd see it when we got there; it's hard to miss," Harry said, putting down his fork and sitting back in his chair. Finally, he looked at Hermione. His eyes searched her, desperately wanting answers.

"Well, we'd better get going, it'll probably be crowded," Ginny said, standing up.

The others followed her. Hermione offered to do the dishes. The solitary work would comfort her; allow her to gain control of her thoughts. As the sink filled with soapy foam, she felt herself relax. Her brain had been on overdrive ever since they had gone swimming. It felt good to just let everything go.

"Do you need any help with the dishes, Hermione?" said a voice behind her. Caught unaware, convinced that she had been alone, Hermione jumped in the air, and spun on the spot, holding a dish up absurdly, as if it were a shield.

Harry laughed kindly as she lowered the dish and began washing it again, feeling her cheeks turn red, "I didn't know you were there…you…you startled me," she said, not looking at him.

Harry laughed kindly again, then walked over to her so that they were standing side by side. He took a towel and began drying dishes. He could have easily done this by magic, but they both knew it wouldn't have been right. They stood there for several minutes, falling into the comfortable rhythm.

"He asked you, didn't he?" Harry asked softly after many minutes had worn on.

"What?" Hermione asked. She knew what Harry was talking about, but she feigned ignorance, not wanting to talk about what he had addressed.

"He asked you to move in with him to Shell Cottage," Harry said, taking a plate from Hermione. He didn't start drying it though; his eyes were firmly planted on her, waiting for her response.

"Yes," Hermione said softly, hating herself for not meeting his eyes. He deserved that, but she couldn't bring herself to do it.

"And you said yes," Harry said quietly, and Hermione could feel his eyes searching her face. This was not, however, a question. He knew the answer already…he knew her.

"Yes," Hermione whispered, and finally, she looked into his eyes. She could not tell what lay behind them until Harry broke into a grin.

"Hermione, that's great news," he said, and she realized for the first time that they had been talking in hushed voices.

"It – it is?" she asked uncertainly, for all of the reactions she had expected of him, this was not it.

"Yes, it is. Ron told me that he was going to ask you, he told me the night Bill asked him if he wanted Shell Cottage. I was hoping you'd say yes," he said, resuming his drying of the breakfast dishes.

"You were?" Hermione asked, scrubbing a bowl that she knew was already clean. She didn't know what to do with his hands.

"Yes, I was," Harry said, gently taking the bowl out of her hands. She looked up at him. "When he told me, he was so…so…" Harry stumbled, unable to find the right word. He shook his head, "It would have broken him if you had said no."

Hermione felt her heart jump into her throat. She wanted to hug Harry for telling her this, but something stopped her. She wanted him to keep on telling her things like this; it was selfish, she knew it, but she liked hearing it at the same time.

"The way he told me, they way he said it…Hermione, you have know idea," Harry said, shaking his head again. Hermione stopped washing dishes to watch Harry. "After he told me, all I could think about was his face. He…he…" Harry stopped, clearing his throat. "He hadn't been that happy in a long time," he finished, his voice quiet again.

Hermione felt her breath hitch, and she dropped the cup she was cleaning so that it clattered against the sink. Neither of them seemed to register the sound. They just both stood there, lost in their own thoughts.

"Did he ask you? If you want to move, I mean?" Hermione said, picking the cup up and scrubbing it again. Harry blinked and looked at her.

"Yeah, he did, right after he told me he was going to ask you," Harry said, a faint smile on his face.

"What did you say?" Hermione asked, handing the cup to Harry and picking up a serving fork.

Harry's smile widened, "I said yes, but I don't think he heard me. He was too busy going mad about asking you," Harry laughed, putting down the cup.

Hermione laughed too, but not just at what Harry had said. She was picturing what it would be like, when they moved. The three of them – four if Ginny came too – living together, without any worries, without any cares. Hermione didn't think she could imagine anything more perfect.

"Are you two almost done? You've been washing dishes for an hour," Ginny said, standing in the doorway, a towel slung over her shoulder, Ron a few feet behind her.

"Don't be so dramatic, Ginny," Harry said, rolling his eyes, but smiling all the same. "It barely been twenty minutes."

Ginny chose to ignore the last comment. She walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table. Ron resumed her spot in the doorway, leaning against it, watching Hermione.

"Yes, this is the last one, we'll be done soon," Hermione said, finishing the plate where a piece of egg had stubbornly been clinging to the china. She handed it to Harry, the wiped her hands off on a towel.

"We'll go get ready now," Harry said, taking the towel from her hands and drying his own.

"I brought your things, you can change in the house," Ginny said, holding up a bundle of clothes and looking at Harry. Hermione had a sneaking suspicion that there was more than just thoughtfulness behind this action. The intense way in which she was staring it him seemed to confirm this.

When the four of them were finally ready, they set out for the town center; Charlottesville was small, they could easily get there by foot. The public beach ran alongside a strip of small touristy establishments. By the time they had found a good spot and had set down their towels, they were all damp with sweat. The sun was beating down relentlessly; Hermione could almost feel the weight of it.

The four of them ran into the ocean, laughing and shouting. Hermione felt herself gasp as the cool water washed over her, though she didn't know if it was out of pleasure of surprise. From beside her, Ginny had pushed Harry into the water. He came up spluttering, shaking water out of his ears. Ron roared with laughter, and, in retaliation, Harry shoved Ron so that he lost his balance and fell into the water. Hermione and Ginny leapt back, both eager to stay out of this.

"Look at them, they're like children," Ginny said, but she was laughing. Harry and Ron wrestled in the water, pushing each other and attempting to run away before the other could get up and get revenge. Hermione shook her head, but, like Ginny, she was laughing.

Ron ran toward her and she knew what he was going to do a split second before he did it.

"No, no, no, no, no!" Hermione shrieked, taking a step back, putting her arms out straight, as if protecting herself.

Ron reached her before she could do anything else, picking her up with ease and swinging her over his shoulder as if she were weightless. She pounded at his back good naturedly, pretending to be angry.

"Ronald put me down _now_!" she shouted, trying to keep herself from laughing.

"Ha, ha, I have a hostage now!" Ron called to Harry, running thought he water with Hermione on his shoulder as Harry chased after them. A few feet away, Ginny had actually fallen over, laughing.

"Harry, no!" Hermione cried as Harry got closer. They had gone deeper into the water so that it was halfway up Ron's chest and at Harry's neck.

"Hostage or no hostage, you're getting it after that last one," Harry laughed, attempting to push Ron over. "I fell flat on my back, it hurt!" he added, trying to take a run at Ron and Hermione. Hermione shrieked.

"Come on, you can't do that! I have Hermione," Ron said, as if that cleared up everything in the world. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Hermione, help me! I have to get him," Harry laughed, as Ron started running again. Hermione could hear Ginny's laughing from back on the beach.

"I can't, I can't!" she laughed, loving the feel of Ron's hands on her legs. Harry got closer, but both of the boys were winded.

"Okay, I give up," Harry said, panting a little. Ron tuned around, and Hermione got dizzy as she spun through the air.

"Really?" he asked, his grip still on Hermione.

Harry laughed and shouted, "No!" just as a large wave rolled in. Ron was caught unaware as Harry took a running jump at the two of them and Ron finally fell over, taking Hermione with him.

She couldn't help it; she shrieked as they fell, for she couldn't do anything to stop it. She could feel Ron's hands on her waist as he pulled her up so that he would not fall on top of her.

They crashed into the blue green water, Hermione with her eyes screwed shut, her mouth open as she screamed. She didn't know where she was until they splashed into the water. She could feel Ron somewhere below her. They were deeper in that she thought; her toes barely scratched the sandy bottom. She felt herself being pulled up by a pair of strong hands on her waist.

She emerged from the water, choking and spluttering as she took deep breaths of air. From beside her, Ron was shaking his head, getting water out of his ears. His hands were still on her waist, even though they didn't need to be.

"Are – you – okay?" Ron gasped, choking a little.

Hermione nodded, pushing clumps of wet hair out of her face. "Are you?" she asked, "Did I hurt you?" she added. Her heart was racing again, though she didn't know why.

"No, never," he said quietly. She realized how close they were standing and her heart beat even faster. From the beach, Ginny wasn't laughing anymore.

"You owe me one," Ron said from over Hermione's head to Harry, who was standing behind them.

"I know, sorry," Harry said weakly. "I won't even try to run, you can have it," he called to the two of them.

Ron grinned and looked down at Hermione. "That's not what I had in mind," he said softly. He pulled Hermione in a little closer, and she smiled, knowing what he was going to do.

He kissed her softly, his hands leaving her waist and moving up her back. His lips parted hers gently as her hands found his neck. They ignored Harry's indignant shouts, which sounded muffled in the sounds of their hearts beating quickly and the waves crashing around them. Hermione felt Ron's hands slide to her waist again as he lifter her up, and spun her around. They broke away as she laughed, her eyes meeting his. Harry was right; he had never been this happy. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck more firmly. With him holding her up, her face was slightly above his. She leaned forward and kissed him again. He lowered her slowly, and stopped spinning, their lips never parting

A loud shout in the vicinity broke them apart. Harry was standing a foot away, Ginny slightly behind him.

"You know what?" Harry called, laughing. "I take it back, I don't owe you anything. Ginny, you get Hermione. I got Ron."

Ron laughed and lifted Hermione up again as Ginny and Harry tried to run against the waves. This time, Hermione didn't protest as put her over his shoulder and began running away. This time, however, he ran toward the beach.

"Where are you going?" she called to him, watching as Harry and Ginny ran for a few feet, and then gave up. Ron had the longest legs by far; even with Hermione they wouldn't be able to catch him.

On the beach, he put her down, lowering her carefully so that she stood in front of him. He looked down at her, a grin on both of their faces.

"Sorry you had to be my hostage," Ron said, taking a step closer to her.

"I'm not," she said, taking a step toward him, so that they were very, very close. His eyes shone as she stood on tip toe and kissed him.

She tried to put a lot of unsaid things into that kiss, things that she couldn't formulate into words. She told him how happy she was that she was going to move in with him. She told him what it had really meant when he had said, "No, never". She told him that this morning hadn't been a dream, that she really did love him. And he told her things too. She could feel them in the touch of his hand on her back, or the way his lip pressed sweetly into hers. She listened as he told her how much she meant to him. She listened as he told her what it meant for her to say "I love you" back, and how much courage it had taken for him to say it first.

When they broke apart, Hermione could feel how warm her cheeks were, and Ron looked as though he had recently been hit in the head. She knew that he had heard everything that she had told him.

By the time they had both regained their composure and Hermione was starting to get feeling in her toes again, Harry and Ginny had rejoined them. As they gathered their towels and bags, Hermione could feel Ron's eyes on her. As she looked up to meet them, she felt herself quell under the intensity of his gaze. As they walked toward the exit, she saw that Ron lagged behind.

When it became apparent that he was purposely doing this, Hermione paused and turned around. He was still staring at her, his head tilted to one side. Hermione pushed her hair out of her face self-consciously.

"What?" she said nervously.

"Nothing," Ron said, shaking his head and walking toward her. He walked past her, and this time it was Hermione that stopped, and Ron that turned to her.

"It's not 'nothing'. What's the matter?" she asked, twisting the towel in her hands.

Ron took a few steps back and reached out for her hand, taking it in his. "It's just that sometimes…sometimes I wonder if you…if we…if what's happened. If it's real. Right then was one of those moments." Ron said, his ears turning red.

Hermione smiled and looked up at him, not knowing what to say because sometimes, she wondered the same thing.

"Are you guys coming or not?" Harry called, doubling back to make sure they were following. The two jumped, and Hermione gave a word of apology.

They spent the rest of the day walking around Charlottesville, looking in stores and sitting outside drinking cold drinks. The sun was a constant companion, beating down on their backs.

After a few hours in town, they decided to go back to Hermione's parent's house. As they were walking, the sun gave way to clouds, and a light, summer rain relieved them. Ginny groaned, but Hermione, looked up, laughing. Ever since the morning, everything had seemed infinitely better. She could have walked through devastation with her head held high.

"We're going to get soaked!" Harry said, as the rain started pounding down on the pavement, looking incredulously at Hermione's smile. "What's the matter with you?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said, tilting her head up to the sky as rain fell on her face.

"We should just head back to town, we're still really close. If we keep going, we're going to be wringing water out of our hair for the next year," Ginny called over the sound of the raindrops hitting the concrete. It was now nothing short of pouring.

"You guys can go back, I don't mind it," Hermione said, pushing her sodden hair out of her face.

"Are you mad? You're going to keep walking in this?" Harry asked, looking at Hermione and then at Ron, who had said nothing.

"I don't mind it," Hermione repeated truthfully.

"Have it your way, I'm going back," Ginny announced, and Harry nodded in agreement. Harry looked at Ron, who shook his head.

When Harry and Ginny were out of earshot, Ron turned on Hermione. "Are you mental? Why aren't you going back?"

Hermione laughed, the sound of it disappearing in the rain. She didn't know what had come over her. She was so happy, she could have floated home.

"I don't know," she said truthfully.

"You won't be dry for days, you know that, right?" Ron asked, his hair plastering itself to his forehead. He was shouting to be heard over the downpour.

"I know," Hermione said, stepping off the sidewalk and twirling around. She didn't know what she was doing, but didn't let herself think about it. She supposed this was it: her emotions, which she had kept inside for so long, had decided to make an appearance in the middle of a storm.

Ron followed her; they were now standing in the middle of the deserted street. He reached for her wrist, and she came to a stop, looking at him.

"Did you…what did you do?" he asked her uncertainly.

"Nothing Ron, I'm just happy," she shouted as the rain came down in buckets.

Ron gave her a searching look, and she laughed again. All of the feelings she had held in, everything she had not allowed herself to let out, now came bubbling to the surface, threatening to unleash itself.

"Do you realize what's happening?" she shouted at him. He moved closer so that he could hear her better.

"Think of everything that has happened: we're in Australia, with my parents, who are perfectly fine. This morning, I agreed to move into a house with you. And then you told me you loved me. And I…I…" she stuttered, not knowing what to say next. The dominant, rational part of her brain was catching up to her, telling her what a stupid this she was doing.

Luckily, Ron came to her rescue. "Oh," he said softly, and he understood the magnitude of everything she was feeling, because he felt it too. He leaned in and kissed her. If Hermione was feeling dizzy with happiness before, it was nothing compared to now. She dropped the soaking towels on the street and wrapped her arms around Ron's neck. His hands were already on her back. But this time, the kiss itself did not seem to be enough. Hermione moved closer, so that every part of her front was touching him. He did not move back, but reciprocated with fervor, his hands actually lifting her shirt up as he ran them up her back.

They groped at each other in the storm, their breath coming in short bursts, their hearts pounding. Hermione felt herself melt away as Ron's hands ran up her bare back. Her hands grappled at the front of his shirt. When they broke apart, they were both breathing as though they had been running for days. Hermione's chest rose and fell rapidly as she stared at Ron, her arms still on him. The words bubbled to her lips and she let them out, because there was nothing more that she could do to keep them inside.

"I love you," she said, her voice quiet. They were very close, and he could hear her. She knew by the way his eyes widened and grew softer. She wondered if it was too much, saying this twice in one day. But then she realized that saying this could not be measured by times it was said, it had to be measured by times it was _felt_. And standing here in the rain, she knew she loved him.

His leaned in again as they kissed. It was softer this time, gentler. There was no ferocity in it, but the passion, somehow, was stronger. Hermione felt as though she did not have a body, she felt weightless. She was empty, and yet so full at the same time. There was no way to describe it, how she was feeling.

They broke apart again. "I love you," Ron whispered, his thumb and forefinger in her chin, tilting her head sweetly toward him. And the rain pounded on as their lips met.

_Author's Note: I was so nervous to write this chapter after all of the good feedback I got for the last one…I was scared I'd let you all down! I hope everyone likes this chapter. Reviews would be so, so amazing!_

_I apologize in advance, I might not update in the next few days. I have exams coming up and I really should be studying. I write whenever I can, and I'll add another chapter as soon as possible._


	12. Moving and Mirrors

_Author's note: Again, thank you to all who reviewed the chapters. I'm sorry this one took so long to write. I hope you all like it!_

Chapter Twelve:

The rest of the week passed by with the perfect idleness of summer; Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny spent each day with only intention: to be completely unperturbed. Over the next few days, they adapted an unspoken schedule: wake up and have breakfast with the Grangers, go back to the tent for a few hours until lunch, then go to the beach for the rest of the afternoon. They would return back to the cottage before dinner, their hair plastered with salt water and their clothes cakes with sand. After dinner with Hermione's parents, they'd go in to town for the evening, return home for one last cup of tea, and then go to bed. The next few days passed in the blink of an eye, and when Saturday dawned Hermione felt it difficult to believe that they had been here for six days. It was a strange feeling; they days passed quickly and yet she felt as if she had been here her whole life.

They had resolved the night before to have breakfast later today; Hermione's parents did not work on Saturday so they wee in no rush. The sun fell heavier on the tent, as it was much higher in the sky. Hermione blinked sleepily and looked around. The three familiar figures in the living room were still sleeping, their forms bathed in the summer glow. Ginny was stirring, so Hermione waited until she was fully awake before getting up and making noise; Ginny was not a morning person.

Ginny sat up suddenly, her red hair flying as she looked wildly around the tent. Hermione, not expecting the sudden movement, sat up too, alarmed. After a few seconds, Ginny blinked several times, saw Hermione staring at her, and blushed dully.

"Sorry, I was dreaming," she said, twisting the blanket around her finger. She pushed her hair out of her face and pulled back the covers. "I didn't wake you up, did I?" she asker Hermione.

Hermione shook her head. "No, I was already awake, I was just about to get up," Hermione said, mimicking Ginny and pushing back her blankets.

Ginny checked her watch, "It's late, did we all miss breakfast?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowed.

Hermione shook her head a second time, "No, it's Saturday remember? We're having breakfast late, but if we don't hurry we might miss it," Hermione said, standing up and stretching. The chink of sunlight that had inched its way through the opening in the tent fell on her; its warm glow felt nice on her skin.

Ginny nudged Harry's arm, which he had thrown over his head, as if shielding himself from something. He groaned and flipped over, his face pressed into the pillow so that all the girls could see was his mass of black hair. Ginny giggled and nudged him, harder this time, in the shoulder. He raised an arm and waved it aimlessly at Ginny, as if trying to ward her off. Ginny, not taking this well, grabbed her pillow and hit Harry over the head with it. At this, he turned over and sat up.

"Alright, alright, I'm up," he muttered, fumbling around for his glasses, "You could've given me a bit more time though," he said, frowning good naturedly at Ginny. She crossed her arms and returned the expression.

"I'm hungry and I'm inpatient in the morning," she said as Hermione laughed. Harry leaned forward to kiss Ginny and Hermione turned around, giving them some privacy. As she busied herself with making her bed, she wondered what today would hold; it was the first full day she would be able to spend with her parents.

Something, however, tainted this wonderful vision. They were a nagging part of her mind that told her sooner or later, she would have to tell them about her moving in with Ron. After such a long time apart, she wondered if they would want her to come home with them. A part of her felt guilty, for choosing Ron over her parents, especially when it was put in that light. She didn't want to think of herself putting Ron _over_ them, but there really was no other way to phrase it.

From the depth of her mind she heard someone calling her name. She pulled herself out from the deep well, startling and turning around.

"Hmm?" she asked vaguely, forgetting for a moment that she was not alone.

"I was just asking…never mind," Harry said, giving her a strange look. She shook her head, telling him that she was alright. He nodded, understanding. He was still sitting in bed, his tee-shirt twisted around from sleep. Ginny had disappeared into the bathroom. Hermione sat on the bed, shaking her head, trying to forget what she had just been thinking about.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked, for clearly their silent conversation had not convinced him. Hermione looked up slowly, scared to voice her fears for the first time; if they sounded bad in her head, she couldn't imagine how terrible they would sound out loud.

"I just – I'm just thinking about…about telling my parents," she said quietly. "About moving in to Shell Cottage," she added, when Harry continued to look confused.

Harry, finally understanding, nodded slowly. "Ah, I see," he said awkwardly.

"Do you…do you think," Hermione said in a tiny voice, "do you think I'm choosing Ron over my parents?" she said quickly, hoping the words sounded kinder when they were all run together.

Harry paused, his mouth open slightly. Hermione watched him apprehensively, waiting. She had unconsciously moved to the end of the bed, so near the edge she was almost falling off.

"No," Harry said finally, his voice coming out slow and deep. "I don't think you are, Hermione. And I don't think your parents will see it like that either," he added helpfully, giving her a reassuring smile.

Relief flooded into Hermione, the force of it almost making her dizzy. She could trust Harry; he would be honest with her. "You think so?" she asked unnecessarily.

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but Ginny opened the door and walked out of the bathroom, interrupting the conversation. She stopped, realizing that they had ended their conversation the exact moment she had appeared. A look of suspicion clouded her face and her eyes flickered from Harry to Hermione and back again.

"What were you two talking about," she asked apprehensively, crossing her arms and moving closer to the two of them. "You were talking and as soon as I came in you stopped. You three aren't planning anything again are y –" she said, but Harry cut across her.

"No Ginny, we're not," Harry said, using the same reassuring voice he had spoken with to comfort Hermione.

At that moment, Ron gave an almighty snore, startling them all. Ginny gave her brother a look of indignation. "He's still asleep? That's not fair!" she cried.

"I know," Harry said, rubbing his arm and shoulder where Ginny had hit him. Ginny lifted her foot and kicked Ron's leg.

Like Harry, Ron groaned and turned over. However, he did it in a slightly less graceful manner and was closer to the edge of the bed than Harry had been. He rolled right out of bed with a thud, the blankets that had been twisted around him sliding off after him.

Hermione covered her mouth with her hand, trying hard not to laugh. Harry roared with laughter and Ginny made no effort to hide her pleasure. From under the mass of blankets that was Ron, there were several muffled oaths and swears. When he finally managed to untangle himself from the blankets, he stood up, his hair sticking up on one side. His eyes went from Ginny, who bent over laughing, to Harry, who had tears in his eyes, he muttered threateningly under his breath, but did not say anything.

"We should leave soon," Hermione said, her voice strained as she tried not to laugh.

Fifteen minutes later, they were finally all ready to leave. As Hermione left the tent, she felt a hand on hers, pulling her back. Smiling at the familiarity of the touch, she allowed herself to be led back into the tent. She found herself facing Ron, whose hair was still sticking up at odd angles. Not registering what she was doing, she reached up and smoothed it down. He smiled slowly at her touch.

After a few seconds, she removed her hand from his head and instead rested it on his chest. Moving closer, she tilted her chin up and kissed him softly. She felt him sigh as their lips touched.

After several minutes, the broke apart, and Ron, looking as dazed as though he had run into a wall, ran his hand absentmindedly through his hair again, making it stand up on end again. Hermione laughed at the sight of it, but she didn't have time to do anything; they could no longer ignore the sounds of Ginny calling them, which were getting louder and closer together.

They emerged from the tent, their hands held tightly between them, Hermione's chest fluttering. Ginny rolled her eyes, muttered, "finally," and walked up to the house, pulling Harry along in her wake.

When they opened the kitchen door, the smell of bacon and French toast greeted them. Hermione hasted to help her mother as the other three took chairs around the kitchen table.

"Good morning," Hermione's father said from behind the newspaper. He put it down to give them all warm smiles. Hermione grinned back, kissing him on the cheek as she placed a plate of fruit on the table and sitting down next to him.

"Well, what shall we all do today?" Hermione said, bringing food to the table as she sat down next to Hermione.

"Your mother and I have some business to attend to this morning, actually," Mr. Granger replied evasively, as everyone looked up from their plates to watch him, "but we should do something this afternoon."

Hermione gave her father a questioning look, "Dad, what are you –" but he silenced her with a shake of his head.

"Can't tell you, it's a surprise," he said happily, reaching over her and helping himself to some bacon. "But don't worry about it, it's nothing bad."

Hermione was saved the trouble of answering by a loud tap on the window coming from the living room. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all at each other confused; it was undoubtedly the sound of an owl.

"Did you…?" Ron asked the three of them.

"I haven't sent any letters," Harry replied, finishing his sentence, as Ginny and Hermione nodded in agreement.

Ron pushed his chair back and excused himself from the table, leaving to go find the owl. From the front of the house, Hermione heard him let out a shout of exclamation.

"It's Hermes," he called to the rest of them, walking back into the kitchen with a scroll of paper and a handsome owl perched on his shoulder.

"It must be from mum or dad," Ginny said, "Errol would have never made the journey."

"Errol's still _alive_?" Ron asked as he opened the letter, "I was sure he'd died when we were gone…" he added vaguely as he sat back down and began reading the letter.

Ginny gave a loud fake-cough, "Are you going to share the letter Ron, because _watching_ you read it isn't as interesting," she said, her eyebrows raised.

"What? Oh, yeah, sure. It's from mum," he said, clearing his throat and beginning to read. "_Dear Ron, Ginny, Harry, and Hermione. Since it's been almost a week and we still haven't heard anything from you, I decided to write to you since we don't know what has happened in Australia._" Ron paused, rolling his eyes. "We couldn't have sent an owl…what would it have looked like trying to bring a bloody owl on an airplane."

Ginny shushed him and beckoned him to continue. Ron continued hastily: "_Are you with Hermione's parents? Did the airplane stay up? Are they're memories back? We've been so worried here, and it would be nice to here at least _something_ from you four_." Ron paused again and rolled his eyes. Ginny made an angry noise in the back of her throat, and Ron hastened to read on.

"_Anyway, a lot has gone on here too. Bill and Fleur are going to have a baby, as I'm sure Ron's told you. They're moving in at the end of the summer. Which means that the end of the summer will be quite busy, because Percy is getting married,_" Ron read.

"WHAT?" Ginny said loudly, and Hermione dropper her fork.

Harry shushed them and motioned for Ron to continue. He obliged. "_Apparently he's been engaged to a girl ever since last December, but in the heat of everything that happened he didn't know when the appropriate time to tell us would be. We met her, her name is Artemis. She's very nice, I'm sure you will all like her. Anyways, they're getting married at the end of August_." Ron paused again, muttered, "that slick git," under his breath, and then continued reading. "_Well, that's all that has happened here, really. If you could send an owl back, it would be very nice. Love, Mum_."

Ron rolled up the piece of parchment and looked around. Hermione glanced at her parents, who were looking utterly confused. She hastened to explain everything to them.

"That was from Ron and Ginny's mum. Bill and Percy are two of their brothers," she said, and they looked slightly less perplexed.

"I can't believe he got engaged and didn't tell anyone," Ginny said, putting her fork down and sitting back in her chair.

"Yeah, well, when would he have told you?" Harry asked, and Hermione nodded in agreement.

"We should probably send a letter back to her before she goes mad and comes here herself," Ron said, looking down at the letter, and the four of them laughed.

Mr. Granger looked down at his watch and jumped a little, "Oh, is that the time? We're going to be late to our…meeting. Darling, are you ready?" he asked, addressing Hermione's mother. She nodded.

"Where are you –?" Hermione tried again, but her father merely winked and patted her kindly on the shoulder.

Mrs. Granger took off her apron and ran her hands through her curly brown hair, looking anxious. Hermione registered the look of apprehension on her face and felt her stomach knot. Where were her parents going? Despite her father's jovial attitude, she still felt nervous.

They left five minutes later, Mrs. Granger calling over her shoulder that they promised they'd be home in time for lunch. Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione were all left at the table. Ron was looking at the letter, turning it over in his hand; Ginny was staring at a fixed point that no one else could see; Harry was feeding Errol a piece of left over toast; and Hermione, left with nothing to do, stood up and began collecting the breakfast dishes.

"I'll write back to Mum," Ginny said suddenly, coming out of her revere and standing up, her arm extended toward Ron to take the letter. Ron gave a start, clearly deep within his own thoughts, and handed it to her.

Ginny excused herself from the table and walked back to the tent, Errol and Harry following her. Hermione, who was at the sink washing plates, looked up to find her and Ron alone.

Ron grinned slowly at her, getting up from the table and leaning against the counter next to her.

"I can't wait until we can to do this at my own place," Ron said, still grinning at her.

The comment was thrown offhandedly, but it made Hermione pause. She put down the plate she was washing, turned off the water, and turned to face Ron. His ears turned red as she looked up at him.

"We got to play house all last year, and it would have been cool…staying by ourselves, not having anyone boss us around if…"

"If we hadn't been running from Voldemort," Hermione finished for him.

Ron laughed, but it didn't entirely reach his eyes, "Yeah," he said quietly.

"But now," Hermione said quickly, eager to break through the slightly uncomfortable silence that has risen in the small kitchen. "Now it's over and we don't have to worry about anything anymore," she said, reaching for his hand.

"Yeah," he said, his spirits visibly lifting. "Think of all the things we can do," he said happily.

Hermione felt her heart flutter in her chest; she raised her eyebrows at him as his ears grew red again. "What sort of things?" she asked, and there was a playful note in her voice. Ron heard it, and he grinned.

"Well, we could –"

But Hermione never knew exactly what Ron had in mind; at that precise moment, Ginny burst into the kitchen, Harry trailing after her. She stopped short as she saw them; unknowably by either Ron or Hermione, they had moved very close together, barely an inch separated them.

"Oh," Ginny said, as Hermione took several steps backward, her cheeks growing hot. Her heart, which had been pounding in anticipation for what Ron was going to say, was still beating too fast.

"Am I interrupting something?" she asked pointedly, her eyes fixed on Ron. He was resolutely looking everywhere in the kitchen but at her; his ears had now turned a burning shade of red.

"No," Hermione said faintly, trying to come to his aid. "We were just…we were just talking," she said. Harry snorted, clearly unconvinced, from behind Ginny and Hermione shot him a look.

"Well, anyways, I just came in to tell you I sent a letter back to mum telling her not to lose her head and that everything was fine," Ginny said, her eyes still fixed on Ron.

"Great," said Ron, addressing the ceiling. "That'll keep her at bay for about three seconds," he smirked.

Ginny gave up on trying to make Ron more uncomfortable, and laughed. "I know, but I didn't feel like writing a novel documenting every single things we've done, at least we'll have those three seconds of peace," she shrugged and addressed Hermione. "You and Ron can get back to…whatever you were doing. Harry and I are going for a walk on the beach, we'll be back for lunch," she said, walking out of the door without a backward glance at the two of them. Harry lingered a second longer, his expression quizzical, but followed Ginny out of the kitchen.

Once they were safely alone, Ron cursed out loud and reached out for Hermione, "Mum and dad should have stopped after me, they didn't know what they were getting themselves into, with Ginny," he said, shaking his head.

Hermione laughed, wondering if they would pick up their conversation where it had left off.

"You know what I'm looking forward to?" Ron asked, and Hermione looked up expectantly, her heart thundering in her ears.

He leaned down and kissed her softly. She felt a shiver go down her spine as his arms wrapped themselves around her back. She thought that she would never grow tired of the feel of his hands on her back. She wrapped her arms around his neck. They swayed on the spot, both of them overwhelmed by the feel of the other. Hermione wondered if she was still standing; it felt as if she was floating a foot off the ground.

When they parted, Hermione kept her arms around Ron's neck, and he did not remove his from her back. He blinked happily down at her, pulling her a little closer to him.

"I'm looking forward to _that_," Ron finished finally, "And not have to worry about being walked in on," he added, and she laughed in agreement.

"I thought Ginny was coming?" Hermione asked, looking up at Ron.

"Yeah but it's my house, so she can't tell me what to do," Ron countered, grinning down at her.

"How mature," Hermione joked, and she leaned forward and kissed him again.

***

Ginny and Harry did not return for lunch, nor did Hermione's parents. Left to themselves, Hermione made a lunch of sandwiches, and the two of them had an impromptu picnic on the beach. Being completely alone, the atmosphere was very different; Hermione wondered if this is what Ron had envisioned as something he was looking forward to doing when they moved.

Ginny and Harry came back late in the afternoon. Ginny's hair was a mess and Harry looked as though he had just woken up from a deep sleep. When they entered the tent, Ron looked away, giving Harry time to splash water on his face and Ginny time to run her hands through her hair.

They sat around in the tent for the next half hour, their conversation punctuated occasional awkwardness. Today, the tent felt like it was too small to hold all of them. Hermione wondered if the canvas was going to split from all of the thoughts that the four of them were filling it with.

Just as Hermione was about to stand up and go for a walk to get away from everyone's crowded thoughts, Harry, who had been laying on his back in bed pretending to read a book, sat up suddenly, his eyes on the opening of the tent. The other three mimicked him, though it was clear that he alone had heard something.

"I think that was the car," he said, looking at Hermione. "Your parents must be back from whatever they were doing," he said, swinging his legs around and getting off the bed.

Hermione felt her heart race as she followed Harry to the mouth of the tent. Voices carried from the open window in the kitchen down to the tent. Without a glance back at the rest of them, Hermione sped forward to the house, eager to see what had happened. She had been slightly uneasy all day; she did not know what her parents had been doing.

She walked into the kitchen and had barely a moment to look around before she was engulfed in a very strong hug. Hermione's father had practically thrown himself at her; from underneath his arms, she could hear him laughing.

"What happened?" she asked weakly as he let her go. She took a few steps forward, allowing the other three to come into the kitchen. Hermione's father seemed too happy to talk; instead, he waved a piece of paper in front of her face, practically jumping up and down. Hermione tried to grab it from him, but it was moving too fast.

"Dad, what –?" she asked, but he didn't seem to hear her.

"We did it! We did it!" Hermione's father said, and Hermione's mother, looking slightly exasperated, walked into the kitchen. She shook her head and gave Hermione a knowing look.

"What happened?" Hermione asked loudly. Her stomach had woven itself into such a tight knot in anxiety that she thought she might cry out. At the sound of her voice, her father stopped shouting and she was able to grab the piece of paper out of his hand. She looked down at it but her nerves seemed to have affected her vision, they words seemed to blend together in front of her; she could not decipher a word of it.

"We sold the house!" Hermione's father said gleefully, coming to Hermione's aid after she had looked down dumbly at the paper in her hands for several seconds without reacting to it. She looked up at him.

"You what?" she asked quietly, looking at her father, then mother, then back again.

"We sold this house, we're moving back to our old home!" Hermione's mother said, throwing out her arms as if presenting a special treat.

Hermione felt her knees grow weak, and she pulled out a chair nearest to her and sank down onto it. There was a pressure growing between her eyes, and she was painfully aware of her heart, which seemed to have launched itself in her throat. She buried her face in her hands for a moment, looking up in time to see her parents exchange confused looks. Clearly, they were expecting her to be ecstatic at this news.

"Hermione is something wrong?" her mother asked with trepidation.

Hermione took a deep breath, steadying herself for what was going to come next. The rational part of her brain told her that she should have been expecting this, that what was coming was inevitable.

"You…you can't leave," she whispered. "You can't leave because…because they're n-nothing to go back t-to," she said. She didn't know when she had started crying, and she wasn't sure why exactly she had started, but she made no movement to wipe the tears away. From the corner of her eye she could see Ron try and move closer to her, but Harry held him back.

Hermione's parents exchanged confused glances again. "What do you mean, Hermione dear? We're going back home, back to where you grew up. Back to our real home," she said, in a soothing voice. It only made Hermione feel worse. This too, she was responsible for.

"You can't go b-back there because it n-not there," she cried. "The h-house is g-gone, it's destroyed I s-saw it," she sobbed, not meeting her parents' eyes; she did not want to know how they would take the news.

"Hermione, the house is there, we made sure it is. We got in contact with an agent in London…the house is fine."

Hermione shook her head, "It's n-not. R-Ron took me there, it's b-burnt, the agent m-must have been m-mistaken. It's d-destroyed," she repeated.

"It's not destroyed," said a quiet voice behind her. Hermione pivoted in her chair to look at Ron, who had spoken in a voice barely above a whisper. Harry let go of his arm and he stepped forward a little, his eyes meeting Hermione's.

"It's not ruined, Hermione. After we visited it I knew how much it meant to you so I asked Harry and we…we fixed it up," he said, his eyes only on her.

Through her tears, she began to register what he had said, "You fixed the house?" she asked faintly, vaguely aware of how stupid she must sound.

Ron nodded earnestly, "Yeah, we did. It took a bit of work, but it looks just like it did when you lived there…I found the pictures you took with you when we left. That's what we were doing when we left the Burrow all day. I didn't tell you because…because I wanted it to be a surprise." Ron said, his ears growing red at his last sentence.

Hermione looked up at him, a warmth beginning to spread throughout her body. "You fixed it all?" she asked, still not truly believing what he had said.

Ron grinned, "Yeah, we did. I knew how awful you felt when you saw the house and…and I wanted to…to…" but he was spared from finishing the sentence.

In a sudden rush, Hermione finally realized what had happened, what he had done. She leapt up from her chair, which clattered noisily to the ground; she ignored it.

"You fixed it!" she cried, and she ran into his arms, which hung limply at his sides but immediately embraced her when she ran to him. Not thinking about anything but Ron, not caring about anything but Ron, she kissed him full on the mouth. In his happiness, Ron responded to her sudden surge of affection with such eagerness that he picked her up off the ground. Distantly, she could hear someone say something, but she did not care.

When they finally broke apart, they realized the uncomfortable situation they had put themselves in. Ron gently let go of Hermione, who was still raised a half a foot from the ground.

"I…" Hermione started, not knowing what she could possibly say to erase what had just happened.

Her father was the only one looking at them, but he was not looking at Hermione. His eyes were fixed resolutely on Ron. Once Ron realized this, he stared just as determinedly back at him, his ears very red, but his gaze never wavering.

Hermione, in a desperate attempt to break through the silence, turned to Harry and hugged him. "Thank you, thank you," she said, squeezing him tightly. There were no words that could possibly say what it meant to her that they had fixed the house.

"It was no problem," Harry said, slightly embarrassed.

The thickness of the air seemed to lessen a little, and Mrs. Granger finally eradicated it by breaking the tension and putting taking the kettle from the stove and filling it to make tea. The sound of water hitting metal seemed to lessen the pressure in the room. Mr. Granger reluctantly broke his gaze from Ron, whose ears looked as though heat was actually being emitted from them.

After ten minutes, the joy of moving back home seemed to have taken over the fact that Hermione and Ron had kissed in front of everyone. As Hermione's mother began making dinner, they sat around the table and talked. Hermione felt as if she was still being lifted off the ground: she had a home again, a home her parents were moving back in to. As the smells of dinner wafted around the kitchen, Hermione found herself pinching her arm several times; surely what was happening was not reality.

"Ron, can I speak with you for a moment?" came her father's voice, breaking into her dream-world and sending her crashing back down to earth. All eyes in the kitchen were now at either Ron or Hermione's father, both of whom were looking very apprehensive. Hermione glanced at Ron; they had been expecting this. Ron, who had grown very pale, nodded, clearly unable to produce any words.

Rather shakily, Ron got up from the table, pushing his chair back loudly and following Mr. Granger out of the kitchen. Hermione watched him leave, torn with what she was supposed to do. As they left the room, Hermione found herself standing up. Ginny, who was seated next to her, stood up too, grabbing her wrist.

"Hermione, don't," she advised, but Hermione shook her off. She followed the sound of the two voices out of the kitchen and into the living room. At the doorway, she hesitated, listening. She hid herself in the shadows of the foyer, leaning against the wall inches from the doorway. She had not intended to eavesdrop; she was listening so she could interfere if things got out of hand. At least, that was what she said over and over in her mind, trying to convince herself.

"So," Mr. Granger said, his voice slightly deeper than the one he normally used. "I think it's pretty obvious, you…er…you like my daughter," he said, clearly uncomfortable.

"I love her," Ron said, and Hermione felt her heart flutter.

"What do you know about love?" Hermione's father asked scathingly. She knew what he father was doing; he was trying to break Ron, to see if he was a man.

"I know I would give my life for her," Ron said. Hermione's heart, which was already beating abnormally fast, sped up.

Hermione's father seemed to have been rendered speechless; obviously, he had not been predicting an answer as bold as the one Ron had given.

"Well," he spluttered, trying to regain his composure. "Well, that all sounds nice, when you say it, but when it really comes down…"

"Mr. Granger, I love Hermione more than anything in the world. I know I do," Ron said, his voice growing louder and more confident as Mr. Granger's became softer and more punctuated.

"Yes, but you can't be _sure_…" Hermione's father said, and from the tone of his voice, Hermione knew he was aware that he had lost the battle.

"Actually, I am sure," Ron said simply.

"How?" Mr. Granger said softly, the curiosity in his voice taking over the surliness that had once been there.

Hermione heard Ron sigh. "This…this might take some explanation. Alright, so there is this mirror right, and it…it's not normal," Ron stuttered. Hermione felt herself hold in her breath; she did not know what Ron was doing.

"What are you on about?" Mr. Granger said. Ron's voice had grown softer, and Mr. Granger had gained control again.

"Just listen, please. There's this mirror, it's called…never mind it doesn't even really matter. But it's a mirror that shows you what you want." Ron said.

"A mirror that shows you what you want?" Mr. Granger asked, clearly confused. Hermione was just as perplexed; she knew as much as her father what Ron was doing. She wondered why, of all things, Ron had chosen to talk about the Mirror of Erised.

"Well, not what you want, that's not really how it works…I never really understood it actually," Ron said, and Hermione held her breath, silently praying that Ron stayed on track.

"Basically, it shows you your hearts desire…what you want more than anything else in the entire world," Ron said. There was a tiny pause, and Hermione inched closer to the doorway.

"Anyway, Harry used it in our first year, it was on the third floor but I guess they moved it after he got the Stone, I don't know who did it though, Dumbledore never really knew about the Room," Ron said, going off track again.

"What does this have to do about Hermione?" Mr. Granger asked angrily.

"Oh, yeah…right, sorry," Ron said quickly. "After our first year, I guess they moved the mirror into the Room of Requirement, that's a room that can become anything you need it too. Well, when we were searching for the Horcruxes – Hermione told you about those – we needed to go into the Room of Requirement because it was in there. So the Room became this place where everyone put rubbish they didn't want," Ron said in what sounded like all one breath.

"There's a room that changes to what you want?" Mr. Granger asked in awe.

"Yeah, you should see some of the things it does, in fifth year…er, sorry, off track again. So when we were in the room full of rubbish, I found that mirror when we split up and looked for the Horcruxes… someone must have put it there because not a lot of people know about the Room of Requirement, so they thought it would be safe there" Ron said, his voice slower this time.

Hermione thought her heart was going to give her away; surely they could hear it beating three million times a second. She found her hands balled tightly into fists as she listened to Ron talk. She wondered how, if at all, this story was going to relate to her.

"Anyways, when we were looking for the diadem – the Horcrux, I mean – the mirror sort of caught my eye. So I went to it, because I was sort of curious about what would reflect in it," Ron said, his voice very low now. Hermione knew he was thinking of Fred; it had been minutes before he had died.

"And in that mirror, Mr. Granger, that mirror that shows your true hearts desire, I saw Hermione…I saw her with me. I know it's a... a unique way to prove it to you, but I knew when I saw it, when I saw us in the mirror. I knew that I loved her…and that I always will. She's the only thing in this world that I need, Mr. Granger. I love her." Ron finished impressively, his voice strong and clear.

The breath that had been caught in Hermione's throat rushed out as she leaned against the wall to support her. It took all of her personal strength not to run into the living room and throw herself at Ron. Then again, even if she hadn't been able to contain herself, she doubted her legs would function well enough to obey her.

"I don't even know how to respond to that," Mr. Granger said, laughing. "What I was expecting…well, what you said isn't even comparable. That…that was a fine little speech you made there, and I know you mean it. I know you love her, and I know that you make her happy."

Hermione heard Ron let out a loud sigh of relief and she smiled. She tried to push off the wall to see if she could support herself and go back to the kitchen before they walked out and caught her lurking in the shadows. But they started talking and Hermione still hadn't regained control of herself, so she was stuck listening.

"So, does that mean you won't stare me down anymore?" Ron asked hopefully. Hermione winced, but Mr. Granger laughed.

"Yes, but if you two pull the act you did in the kitchen again, I'll have to hurt you, no matter how much you…love her," he said, the last two words surfacing somewhat reluctantly.

There was an awkward little pause and Hermione wondered what was happening. She tried to move a little closer, but she was scared that she would reveal herself if she did so.

"So, should we head back into the kitchen, I think dinner might be ready," Ron said loudly and somewhat uncomfortably.

"Don't you think we should give Hermione a chance to quit hiding in the doorway and come out?" Mr. Granger asked as Ron laughed. Hermione felt her heart come to a resounding stop as she froze where she was, her mouth dropping open.

Feeling trapped, she slowly moved into the light and into the open doorway. She could feel her cheeks growing red as she looked down at the ground, refusing to catch either of their gazes, though she could feel both of them burning into her.

"Well, I _was_ going to tell you what happened, but I guess there's no need for that," Mr. Granger said happily. Hermione looked up, feeling ashamed. She didn't even try to defend herself.

The three of them stood in the living room in silence; Hermione wondered if they could feel the heat radiating off of her cheeks.

"I'll leave you two alone, you're obviously going to want to talk to Ron after he made such a…an impressive little pronouncement," Mr. Granger said to Hermione jovially, shaking Ron's hand and patting his daughter's head as he left.

The two of them were left in the room, and Hermione realized that she had regained feeling in all of her extremities again. He grinned at her and held his arms open to her. She ran into them, and for the second time that night, she felt her feet actually leave the ground. She hugged him tightly, and when he put her down, he kissed her softly on the lips. She couldn't stop smiling.

"Did you hear everything?" Ron asked, his face inches from hers.

Hermione nodded, too happy to feel ashamed anymore. "Yes, it was…perfect. You really impressed him," she said, and he looked proud.

"I meant what I said, every single bit of it," Ron said softly, resting his forehead against hers so that all that she could see was his blue, blue eyes. She got lost in them as they bore into her, making her feel as though he had lifted her up again.

"I know," she whispered, her lips brushing his again, and when they pulled away he was looking very serious.

"I love you Hermione. I'll love you forever," he whispered back.

_Author's note: Well, I told myself I wasn't going to make this one as fluffy, but I guess it turned out that way! I hope everyone liked it. As always, reviews would be fantastic!_


	13. Finding Home

_Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who reviewed they were all so great! I am sorry it took me so long to update, but I really hope the wait was worth it! Enjoy!_

_Also, I was kindly informed by a very reviewer that Audrey is the name of the girl Percy marries (thank you very much for telling me!) When she is mentioned again, I will stay true to J.K Rowling and call her Audrey. I'm sorry it's confusing and unprofessional, but I forgot what her name was. _

Chapter Thirteen:

Two weeks and thirteen letters from Mrs. Weasley later, the little cottage by the ocean was filled of boxes, and the tent was packed neatly inside Hermione's little beaded bag. The house had sold very quickly, as had the practice Mr. Granger had set up in the town neighboring Charlottesville. So far, everything had gone smoothly, and Hermione could not believe her luck.

They day they were to leave Australia was bright and hot, the sun beating down on the pavement, the air so thick with humidity, the threat of rain was felt with every intake of breath. Hermione pushed damp hair off of the back of her neck, trying to cool herself off. Australia was beautiful, but she was thankful she would finally be able to get out of the merciless heat. The grey skies and rain of London almost seemed welcoming.

They were waiting for an owl from Mr. Weasley who had – at Ron's request - had asked permission to connect the fireplace of the Grangers' home in London to their home in Australia for a day. He was supposed to here back from the Ministry last night and send an owl that would get to them by the morning, but that had been hours ago, and there was still no sign of Hermes. They all sat cramped together in the living room, each one looking up every few seconds to glance at the window, which remained owl-free. Every time one of Mrs. Granger's carefully cultivated plants scratched at the window, or every time Ginny scraped her shoe against the floor impatiently, everyone would look up expectantly, only to look down again, avoiding eye contact with everyone because they didn't want to see the disappointment mirrored in another face.

"Maybe Hermes got lost," Ginny suggested to the silent room. Hermione could barely see her around all of the boxes that filled the room. She had told her parents that she would Vanish them to the old house, but she had yet to do it. The heat pressed down on her like a hand, making her drowsy and unproductive.

"He never gets lost," said Ron confidently. He was sitting next to her, perched a stack of boxes. "Hermione, weren't we supposed to get rid of these?" he added, as if he could read her mind.

"Mhmm," she said vaguely, lifting her heavy hair off of her neck again and sitting further back in her chair. The air conditioning had been turned off because they hadn't expected to still be here. Hermione wished that they had planned better.

"I'll do it," Harry volunteered from near the window, where he was watching for Hermes. He turned away from the deep blue sky and took out his wand, which had been stowed carefully in his pocket. Hermione watched her parents' eyes grow round as he waved the strip of wood in his hand and all of the boxes vanished; she knew they had not become completely accustom to magic.

Ron, who had been sitting on the boxes Harry had just sent to London, fell out of the air and crashed to the floor with a shout. Harry hastened to help him, his muttered apologies lost behind his barely concealed grin. Ron picked himself up off the floor, shot an angry look at Harry, and then slid onto Hermione's chair. It was too hot to be this close; she could feel the heat created by their bodies. But the feel of his leg pressed against hers kept her from saying anything.

The room was blanketed with silence once more. Hermione's mother was playing with the hem of her skirt anxiously. Hermione knew her mother had been eagerly awaiting the day that she could return to her true home; she had been waiting ever since Hermione had changed their memories back. The glitch in their plan, the slight postponement from the thing she wanted most was pulling at the corner of Mrs. Granger's mouth. Hermione wanted to say something to her, to do something to make her feel better, but all of the things that rushed to the tip of her tongue got lost in Ginny's voice.

"It's an owl! It's an owl!" she cried, jumping out of her seat and running to the window, her finger pointing at the sky rather comically. Everyone hastened to follow her, their eyes pointed in the same direction as her finger. Hermione squinted; there was something - a speck of something – growing larger as it grew nearer, flying toward them.

"How the hell did you see that thing from so far away?" Ron asked, his voice a mix of incredulity and awe; like Hermione, he was squinting at the sky.

Harry opened the window and let the owl in, where it soared gracefully to the chair Hermione had just vacated and sat on the arm, preening its feathers. Harry was closest, and he took the tight scroll of parchment form the bird's leg and opened it, reading the letter out loud.

"_Dear Ron: sorry about the delay, Kingsley's been so busy with everything he didn't get it until very early this morning. He says the fireplace is clear for you to use, but it will close at five, your time, so I wouldn't wait around. Hope everything goes, see you all when you get home. Love, Dad. P.S. you mother says hello and stay safe._" Harry finished the letter and rolled it back up again, grinning at Ron, who had rolled his eyes at the post script.

"Honestly, she thinks we're still eleven years old," he grumbled.

"Well, shall we get going then?" Hermione said quickly. From the other side of the room, she could tell that her parents had not registered any of what Harry had read; their anxiety was etched clearly on their faces.

"Let's go, I can't stand another minute here, I think it must be three hundred degrees," said Ginny, her face pink. She walked eagerly to the fireplace as Mr. and Mrs. Granger watched her apprehensively.

"Okay mum and dad, I told you what you have to do, and you understood everything, right?" Hermione asked her white-faced parents. They nodded quickly, their heads barely moving. Hermione tried to form her mouth into a kind smile, but it seemed to be stuck. The fact that she was going home, finally going _home_ seemed to paralyze her and make her feel jumpy.

Harry handed Ginny the Floo Powder, which Hermione had put in her bag when they had come here, just in case. Ginny took a handful of it and stepped into the fireplace. It was a tight fit; most houses in Australia didn't have large fireplaces, they weren't exactly needed. Her head bent at an odd angle, her torso twisted to one side, she threw the powder into the grate, which immediately ignited bright green flames. Hermione saw her parents retreat several steps backward; it was one thing for her to explain what would happen, but she supposed watching it was entirely different.

"23 Cornwall Place!" Ginny shouted, and she spun out of view. Hermione's mother uttered a soft scream and she rushed to the fireplace. She looked up at the chimney, then back at Hermione.

"But – but where did she _go_?" she asked, her hands twisting nervously at her sides. Hermione bit her lip, not knowing what to say.

"Mrs. Granger, it's really complicated," Harry said, coming to her aid. "But it _is_ safe, we use it all the time," he added kindly. This seemed to calm her a little, but her face was still extremely pale. Mr. Granger had not said a word; he seemed too shocked to speak.

"I want to go next," her father said suddenly, crossing the room and taking some of the powder from Harry's hand. Hermione looked at her father, taken aback.

"Are you sure dad? You don't want to watch one more time?" she asked.

Hermione's father shook his head defiantly. "No, I'm alright. I want to get this over with," he said, stepping into the fireplace. If it was a squeeze for Ginny to get in there, it was nearly impossible for her father to fit himself in the small grate. His face clammy and grey, he imitated what Ginny had done and the fire at his feet burnt green. She saw him jump at this, but he did not say anything. Hermione's mother had subconsciously reached out and grabbed Hermione's arm, her nails digging in to her bare skin.

"23 Cornwall Place!" Mr. Granger screamed, his voice much louder than it needed to be. It reverberated in the air as he spun out of view. Mrs. Granger shrieked as her husband disappeared, and her grip on Hermione doubled.

The four of them stood in front of the empty fireplace. "I think he did it alright," Harry said gently, and he handed the Floo Powder to Ron as he stepped into the fireplace.

When Harry too had spun out of view, it was only the three of them in the living room now. Hermione's mother was staring at the fireplace unblinkingly, but she was no longer holding onto Hermione, who took this as a good sign. Ron glanced at her, wondering what to do next.

"I want to go," Hermione's mother said, inching toward the fireplace as if it were something dangerous. She took some of the Floo Powder from Ron and stepped into the grate. Hermione moved toward her.

"Are you sure mum? You don't have to go yet, it's alright if you want to wait," she said soothingly.

Hermione's mother shook her head, her face unwavering, her mouth set. Hermione knew that look of determination; she had worn it herself several times.

"23 Cornwall Place!" Hermione's mother shrieked, and she disappeared.

The two of them stood in silence for a moment, Hermione not daring to breathe. "She – she said it right, didn't she? She didn't mutter or say it too quickly, right?" Hermione whispered, hoping that nothing had happened to her parents. It would be cruel to lose them again, having just found them.

"She did it perfectly, Hermione," Ron said comfortingly, his hand breaching the distance between them and squeezing hers tightly.

"I'll go next," she volunteered, dropping his hand and stepping into the fireplace. It was very claustrophobic; the brick walls surrounded her on all sides, the heavy darkness of them pushing down on her, crushing her lungs. She forced breath out at she took some of the Floo Powder Ron was holding out to her. She gave him a fleeting smile as the fire under her feet turned green. He grinned at her as she said her parent's address, and she felt herself being taken from Australia.

His smile had made her head spin, and combined with the feel of her flying past other people's fireplaces made her feel downright sick. She had never really been affected by it before, and the feeling unnerved her. She brought her elbows in close to her chest as she spun across continents. She remembered their airplane ride to Charlottesville and wondered briefly if that would have been a better option. It was slower, but definitely much more comfortable.

She didn't have much time to contemplate it; the dizziness was consuming her. She had never traveled this far before. She spun for what seemed like hours as she passed flickers of light that were other people's houses before being pulled away. She felt her breath catch in her throat and her mind went numb with the overpowering urge to be sick. It was a horrible feeling, being stuck in this spinning vacuum of darkness. Thankfully, the spinning subsided as she felt herself slam into wall of a different fireplace. Her legs buckled a little beneath her as she struggled to remain upright. Dizzy and disoriented, she toppled out of the fireplace and into Ginny, who was standing nearest. Behind her in an overstuffed armchair sat Harry, who looked just as bad as Hermione felt. Muttering an apology, she made her way to the armchair next to him and sat down, feeling as though it had taken all of the strength in the world to move that tiny distance.

"Are you okay?" Ginny asked, though she herself did not look well; she was leaning on Harry's chair for support and her face seemed drained of color so that it contrasted shockingly with her red hair. As Hermione nodded, the room around her moved at top speed. She closed her eyes for a moment and felt it slow. When she opened them the lightheadedness had subsided somewhat. The room was not moving slower now, but she felt hazy, as if there was a light fog separating her from everything else. She nodded and took a few deep breaths, making a mental note to herself never to travel that far before using Floo Powder, or to look at Ron before doing so.

Now that the world was spinning at a rate at which she could still discern objects, she was able to see properly where she was. Ron was right; the room was _exactly _like it had been before she had left, right down to the pictures on the walls and the glass ornaments on the shelves. She did not know how he and Harry had done it, but it made her heart swell and her eyes brim with tears. _She was home_.

She did not have time to let the tears fall; a crunch and a muttered oath announced Ron's less-than-graceful arrival as he tumbled out of the fireplace and onto his face. For the second time that day, he pulled himself off of the floor and into a standing position, leaning against a chair to do so. Ginny snorted at the sight of him and excused herself to go to the kitchen, where loud retching and groans were issuing from the doorway. Clearly, her parents had not had a positive experience with Floo Powder.

When Ron was stable enough to stand up by himself, Hermione fell into his arms. She had meant to run into them, but she was still unsteady on her feet, so she fell toward him and miraculously managed to land on target.

"It's perfect," she whispered in his ear, and she heard him laugh softly and wrap his arms around her, bringing her close.

A very loud cough interrupted the two of them and pronounced Ginny's arrival from the kitchen; where she had apparently been helping Hermione's parents. She was followed by Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who were both white-faced and clutching mugs of tea. Hermione looked around at all of the pale faces surrounding her; it looked as though they were all recovering from a severe bout of the flu.

"I am never, ever using Floo powder to travel so far," Harry said, voicing Hermione's thoughts as he eased himself into a chair. Ginny, Ron, and Hermione all agreed fervently; Mr. and Mrs. Granger looked as though they would not be moving for a very long time.

It was early in the morning in England; Hermione had forgotten about the change in time. The sun, a pale imitation of the sun in Charlottesville, was just beginning to peek out from behind the row of houses on the other side of the street. It hung in the middle of the grey sky, its watery yellow struggling to warm everything around it. Hermione watched as the sun rose higher and higher, and felt – though she did not know why – unbelievably sad by it.

"Shall we have some breakfast or something, before we unpack all of the boxes?" Ginny asked loudly, her voice breaking the air in front of everyone clean in two. She alone seemed to have regained her composure, the color was back on her cheeks and she took several unwavering steps toward Harry, who had his head in between his knees.

Hermione tried to stand up, but her legs seemed to be made of smoke, and she collapsed back onto the chair, humiliated by this weakness. She tried again, cursing whoever it had been who had decided to travel here by Floo Powder.

Ron had regained his strength too, and he hastened to help Hermione. She felt her cheeks grow red as he took her arm and lifted her up easily. She felt herself fall into him, and he put a strong arm around her shoulders. Her face was burning now; the embarrassment that she was still dizzy did not seem to bother Ron, who kept his arm around her as they made their way into the kitchen.

It was just as Hermione had remembered it: the light green of the walls and the oak wood of the cabinets. Hermione breathed in deeply and felt a shaky smile start to spread over her face. She had not felt this relaxed in a very long time.

She set herself down carefully onto a kitchen chair, and placed her elbows on the table to anchor herself. Equally pale, Harry sat down next to her, gripping his hair. Ginny set down mugs of tea in front of the two of them, and they took them thankfully.

The tea seemed to do something wonderful to her. As its warmth made its way into her, Hermione could feel herself regaining some of her strength. She lifted her arms off of the table and smiled at Ron, who was sitting opposite her. At this sign that she was okay, he grinned and slumped back in his chair, reassured.

As the mist that had been surrounding Hermione ever since she had fallen out of the fireplace subsided, she eased herself out of the chair to help Ginny, who was busy making breakfast. As Hermione stood up, Ron did too, pushing his chair back loudly, his face ridden with concern. She shook her head reassuringly at him, and he sat back down, but continued to watch her was she moved to the counter. She could feel his eyes on her as she took a spatula from Ginny and began flipping pancakes that were cooking on the stove.

An hour later, the stale air of the house was filled with the rich smells of food. Hermione thought you could not tell that no one had lived here for a year; the warmth and glow of a home was back. As she sat down next to Ron, she felt it warm her like sunshine. He looked at her carefully, putting his hand on her knee, making sure she was okay. Hermione felt dizzy all over again, but it had nothing to do with the Floo Powder.

After a long and lazy breakfast, the five of them made their way into the dining room, where Harry had sent all of the Vanished boxes. They began taking things out, putting the objects from the Australia home with the objects of their London home. Hermione thought they sat strangely on the shelves together, like two friends who had been close at one point, but had grown apart as they aged. The two lives mixed together, the harmony a little disjointed, the rhythm a little broken. It made Hermione ache to see it; to see right in front of her the damage she had caused. But she knew, deep down, that one day the bowl made of shells that was sitting on the dining table would look perfect with the candle sticks her parents got from their wedding. She knew that things had a way of repairing themselves, of knitting themselves back together.

They spent the day unpacking and making their home feel normal again. Hermione's mother would drift off occasionally, standing up and walking through the house. There was a small smile on her face, as if she was remembering an old story that she had once loved. It was a reassuring smile. It was happy.

It was approaching dinner time again when they heard a familiar tap on the living room window. They were all in the kitchen, putting dishes away. Hermione, who was standing on the counter as Ginny handed her plates to put on the top shelf, turned at the sound of the familiar noise. Ron, who had not been doing anything, stood up, looking around.

"If that's mum again…" he said threateningly, crossing the room to find the source of the noise. They all paused in what they were doing as they heard Ron open the window. A second later, Ron let out a shout, nearly causing Ginny to break the platter she was holding.

"I don't _believe _it. It _is _mum," he shouted, coming into view again, a piece of parchment clutched in his hands. He was looking down at is as though he did not believe it was truly there.

Ginny laughed and held up the platter for Hermione to take. "She's going to kill Hermes if she keeps on going like that," she laughed, reaching down into the box beside her and taking another plate to give to Hermione. They waited as Ron read the letter, his face growing angrier and angrier as his eyes swept down the page. When he was done he gave a short, humorless laugh.

"She's metal, mum is. Listen to this. _Dear Ron, Ginny, Harry, and Hermione. I was under the impression that you were returning this morning, but seeing as it's almost dinnertime I must have been mistaken, because we haven't heard from any of you. If you _are_ back in London, if you would be so kind as to send a response back, so we know that everyone is safe, it would be lovely. Love, Mum,_" Ron said, finishing the letter angrily, biting off every word, his ears growing red.

Ginny laughed harshly too, using her want to collapse the now-empty box, and opening a new one. "Well, that's mum for you. I suppose we have to be thankful she didn't come barging in here herself. I guess she's just gone a bit strange because of –" she halted abruptly at the unvoiced mention of Fred, and busied herself with the next box. Ron understood the unsaid words as well; he looked back down at the letter in his hands and began shredding the paper. Hermione wondered if he knew he was doing it. Harry was looking down at his hands, and Hermione, not knowing what to do, stood frozen on the counter, turning the bowl in her hands over and over.

"You should all go," Mrs. Granger said, breaking the tension in the room. They all looked up at her. Hermione, in surprise at her mother's suggestion, nearly dropped the bowl, but caught it before it hit the counter.

"Don't – don't you want us to stay here with you, on your first night home?" Hermione asked, her brown furrowed in concern.

Mr. Granger spoke before his wife could. "It sounds like your needed there," he said, his eyes on the letter in Ron's fist. "Besides, we can get together tomorrow, how does that sound?" he added, giving Hermione a reassuring smile. It occurred to her suddenly that, finally reunited in their own home, her parents might want privacy. She jumped down from the counter and stood next to Ginny, who was staring openmouthed at Mr. Granger.

"You're sure?" Hermione asked one last time.

"Positive," her mother answered.

It took Hermione ten minutes to locate her bag, which had gotten lost amongst the chaos and boxes. She finally found it thrown in a corner in the living room. Harry was staring apprehensively at the fireplace.

"We're not using Floo Powder again are we?" he asked, a note of resign in his voice. Hermione shook her head fervently.

"Absolutely not, we can Apparate," she said, taking Ron's hand in her left and Harry's in her right. Harry gave her an appreciative grin.

"Good, because I am not stepping in a fireplace for a long, long time," he said, taking Ginny's hand in his. Her parents came out of the kitchen to watch them leave. Before she was about to turn on the spot, she found her mother's eyes.

"We'll see you tomorrow," Hermione said, her voice hopeful.

Her mother smiled. "Yes, we will." A promise. Hermione allowed herself a second to revel in the promise. She could now see her parents whenever she liked. The thought of it was like a prize; it had been stolen from her for so long.

Then, Harry tugged impatiently at her arm and she turned, taking the three people linked to her into the black space of nothingness.

Her feet hit the soft ground of the Burrow as she breathed in the scent of it, her second home. In the next moment, the space between heartbeats, a scream rent the air and Hermione, out of instinct and practice, leapt to her feet, her wand drawn, her blood pounding in her veins. The adrenalin made stars in front of her eyes, even though the sky was only tinged pink, hours away from dusk.

Mrs. Weasley stood in front of them, and after several seconds of evaluating the scene, Hermione realized that it was she who had made the noise. She glanced at Harry and Ron, both of whom had also drawn their wands. When they realized their mistake, they stowed them away hastily. The look on Mrs. Weasley's face was murderous, and Hermione saw Ron take a step backward.

"So. Look who decided to show up," Mrs. Weasley said, her voice a hiss of fury. "I haven't heard from any of you in a week."

"Mum," Ginny said slowly, "I wrote to you on Friday." Today was Monday.

Mrs. Weasley chose to ignore this comment. "Halfway across the world, and I was lucky if I got a note saying, 'yes, we're fine'. Do you know what it's been like? You three disappear again, and then Ginny leaves too?" Mrs. Weasley asked, her voice shaking. She was not shouting, but it was the worst sound Hermione had ever heard. It rippled the grass; it caused Hermione's blood to grow cold as her heart stopped. From beside her, she could hear Ron taking shallow breaths.

By now, Mr. Weasley, George, Bill, Fleur, and Percy had all come outside to see what the commotion was. George, Bill, and Fleur hung back as Mr. Weasley met the four of them standing in front of Mrs. Weasley. He put a hand on his wife's shoulder, and Hermione saw her shrink an inch.

"I – I'm sorry. I didn't mean…it's just that….it was so soon after, after…" Mrs. Weasley whispered, and her eyes flickered to the grave in the horizon. Hermione felt her eyes fill with tears.

The next moment, she was pulled into a very tight hug, her face pressed somewhere near Mrs. Weasley's arm as she tried to hug all four of them. She found her nose less than an inch from Ron's. He grinned at her and she felt her heart skip several beats.

When Mrs. Weasley finally let go of them, it was as though her malediction was completely forgotten. She bustled back into the Burrow, talking to herself at top speed about dinner. Mr. Weasley watched her for a moment, his face much older than Hermione had ever seen it, before following his wife.

The four of them stood in a semicircle, their eyes all downcast at the ground at their feet. Hermione bit her lip, not knowing what to say. She jumped a little as Ron's hand reached out to her, and she took it gratefully. He nodded toward the house, and they made their way to the kitchen.

Dinner passed relatively smoothly; no one made mention of what had happened earlier. When the plates were cleaned of food, they made their way into the living room, where the four of them entertained the Weasleys with stories of Australia. Ron got the most laughter of his tale of the airplane. Hermione and Harry had to interrupt several times during the course of it; the way Ron told it, as they had flown across the ocean, the plane had almost fallen out of the air, into a certain watery death, and Ron used magic to keep it up.

Hermione didn't realize how long they had been talking until she glanced at her watch and saw that it was approaching eleven. As others came to this realization, they began standing up and stretching, getting ready for bed. Over the commotion, Hermione's eyes found Ginny's, and Hermione nodded in agreement. She headed out the back door to set up the tent again.

Once it was erected, she opened the flap and stepped inside. She smiled, the feeling of this place, another home, making her feel warm and content. She sat down on the bed, closing her eyes. So much had happened today. They had traveled, both physically and mentally, so far.

A light tap at the canvas of the tent broke into her reverie as her eyes snapped open. She got off of the bed, and paused at the mouth of the tent.

"Who is it?" she asked playfully, knowing very well who it was.

"It's me, let me in," came Ron's voice, and she smiled. She lifted the flap and he ducked under. He grabbed her waist as came through, taking her with him. Before she could even think, he was kissing her, his mouth soft and familiar on his. She responded eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck as his arms encircled her.

After several long, sweet minutes, they broke apart, and Hermione could see Ron's eyes glinting in the darkness of the tent. There was a familiar click as the Deluminator released a ball of light, which hovered over them like a spotlight. Hermione took her arms from around Ron and pulled down her shirt, which had ridden up as they had kissed. Ron sat down on one of the sofas in the living room, leaning back easily in the chair.

"Does Harry know you're here?" she asked, pushing her hair out of her face.

"Yeah, he does. I actually came her to just get my sweatshirt, but…" he said, drifting off as he grinned at her. She was sure that the taste of their kiss sill lingered on his lips, as it did on hers. She smiled, and didn't ask him to continue.

They stared at each other, the air between them growing warmer. It seemed as though it was full of something else, a type of electricity.

"Do you still want it?" Hermione asked after several long moments.

"Want – want what?" Ron asked, his voice gravelly.

Hermione laughed. "Do you still want your sweatshirt," she said, laughing at his expression. It looked as though he had just woken up from a very, very deep sleep.

"Wh – oh, yeah," Ron said slowly. Hermione laughed again and reached into her beaded bag; it still had all of their clothes in it; she hadn't unpacked yet.

The clothes were at the very bottom. Hermione put her whole arm into the bag, her fingertips just brushing the soft material. Putting her shoulder into the bag, she finally got a hold of the sweatshirt. It was tangled with something cold and hard, but Hermione didn't have time to think about it; it was uncomfortable having her entire arm stuck into the bag. As she removed her arm, she took both things out with her.

When she pulled the sweatshirt out of the bag, the thing with which it was tangled with was set free, and it flew threw the air. It glinted gold in the light of the tiny sun in the tent. As it fell back down to the ground, it landed in front of Hermione and Ron, right in the middle of where she stood and where he sat.

In a moment, in the time of a heartbeat, Hermione realized what it was, and, it seemed, so did Ron. He let out a cry of shock, one that equaled the sound Mrs. Weasley had made in the garden earlier. It ripped through Hermione like physical pain, making her fingers grow numb.

Her eyes flickered from Slytherin's locket at her feet to Ron. He had jumped so that he was standing on the chair that he had been sitting on. His arms were raised above his head, as if in surrender. And the look on his face. The fear in his eyes consumed them, making them dark. His face was motionless, paralyzed in fright. He looked at Hermione, and she felt her heart stop. It fell to earth, and she did not think she would ever get it back.

"Get it out! Get it out of here! Hermione, put it away, _please_," Ron shouted, and even his voice was different. It was flat, empty.

It was the last word that made Hermione's breath catch in her throat. He was begging her; it was the most broken sound she had ever heard. That did not come from the person standing in front of her, but from a child, a helpless, vulnerable child.

Hermione bent down and took the locket in her hand. She did not know what to do with it. Ron stepped down from the chair and stood level with her. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with concern and fear.

"Hermione, you…you have to do something with that locket. You have to get it out of here," Ron said. His voice was low, but at least now it was his own.

She made to put it back into the bag, but he grabbed her wrist. "No, not there. It's still _here _if you put it in there," he whispered. Hermione gave him a searching look. She did not know what to do with it. But she was saved the trouble from asking him as he took the locket out of her hands. She wondered if he knew that he had done this.

He sat back down on the chair, holding the locket in his palm gingerly, as if it was something that had recently died. He looked into it with such intensity; Hermione wondered what he was seeing.

She stood there frozen for what seemed like a very long time, before finally settling on the ground. At her movement, he slid off the chair so that they were sitting opposite one another. He was still looking at the locket.

"When I stabbed it, it – it didn't just scream," Ron said. He was still looking at the locket, but Hermione knew that he was talking to her. His voice was low and seemed to come from somewhere very far away. Hermione suddenly realized what great personal strength it was taking Ron to talk. He was offering everything he had to her; he was making himself vulnerable to her. She inched closer to him, giving him strength.

"When Harry opened it, it was _him_. He talked to me, goaded me," Ron said, his voice still very low. He had not looked up at Hermione to see if she knew who he was talking about; he knew that she did.

"And then, and then something else came out of it," Ron said, and his voice was shaking. He closed his eyes briefly, as if the pain made him want to physically block everything out. Hermione moved even closer to him and took his hand - the one not holding the locket - in hers.

"What came out of it?" she asked gently, because she knew he needed help continuing.

"You," Ron whispered, and for the first time he looked up at her. The look of anguish on his face made Hermione want to recoil, but she forced herself not to. Whatever was broken in Ron was now broken in her too. She could feel a piece of herself slipping away as she looked into the eyes that held so much pain.

"It was you and Harry. And…and you said that you didn't need me…that you didn't care about me, that you never _would _care about me. And you said…you said that you loved _him_, not me. You said that I could never compare to him…that I…I…I was nothing" Ron whispered, the pain reverberating in his voice. Hermione wondered if Ron knew he was crying. She gripped onto his hand tighter, wanting to take out all of the sorrow in his voice and carry it far, far away where it could never reach him.

"So…so I had to get rid of it…because you….you and Harry…you," Ron stuttered, and Hermione did not ask for him to continue; pictures were forming in her head; she could see what would have happened to hurt Ron like this.

"And so I got rid of it, because it was everything…everything I ever feared, right there in front of me…all of the worst nightmares…they were _real_, I was hearing them…s-so I had to k-kill it, I had to end it," at this, Ron's shoulders shook with sobs as he bowed his head. Hermione moved closer to him, taking his head in her hands. She gently placed his head onto her shoulder as he cried. She wished that the tears that were soaking her shirt was also his pain; something that he could never get back. His sobs racked through the tent, breaking the air. Hermione felt her face become wet too, though she did not know when she had started crying.

When he had controlled himself a little, he lifted his head. Tears were still leaking out of the corner of his eyes, but he was able to talk. He looked into her eyes, searching hungrily for something in them.

"When I wore it…you…you don't understand. It was…it…" he whispered, his sentence breaking off as he tried to find a word. His voice was quiet now, and he was looking at Hermione, as if scared she did not want to know this. She held onto his hand and stroked the back of it, telling him to continue.

"I…I would look at you, and that voice, it was always his voice, it would say 'you don't deserve her, people like you never end up with people like her. She deserves someone better than you; you will never have what she needs. You cannot even dream of her, you're unworthy. Who are you to even _look_ at her, to even _think_ that maybe…maybe…'" Ron whispered, his voice dying again. Hermione heard herself let out a tiny gasp. She held onto Ron's hand even tighter, her fingers growing white.

"And then – then you would look at Harry. And it would be something s-simple, like you passing him a plate at dinner, but that voice, it would say, 'See, don't you see? Don't you see her looking at him? Don't you see how much better he is? You're such an idiot, being here, isn't it clear they don't want you? Isn't it obvious you could just leave and they wouldn't notice? Don't you see that you mean nothing to her, because he is so much better than you?'" Ron said, his voice trembling again as tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes. He was staring at the locket with so much hatred, Hermione wondered if the metal would melt in his hands. He had stopped looking at her, and she tried to find her voice, but it had died.

"And after a long time, that voice kept on going…it just sort of stayed in my head. Even when I took the bloody thing off, I would hear it," Ron whispered, his voice shaking in the struggle to remain steady. He looked up at Hermione and she met his gaze. She wanted more than anything to say something, but she could not. She was so close to him now she could count the freckles on his nose. She wanted to wipe away his tears, but she had become paralyzed in a mix of fear, repulsion, and sorrow.

"And after a while... after a while, Hermione, I started to believe it. I started to believe in everything it was saying," Ron said. Hermione felt whatever had been blocking her throat rush out in a gasp. She thought that it might have been the sound of her name.

"Ron," she said, and she was momentarily surprised that she was still crying.

He looked up at her, his broken blue eyes meeting hers. She did not know what to say to him, what words would possibly form a sentence that could heal what he had just told her. In that moment she realized how close they were. This closeness struck her because it was a different kind; what he had just shared had broken down every wall they had ever built, she felt incredibly vulnerable.

"You don't believe that anymore, do you?" she asked, and she was not surprised to hear that she was whispering.

"No, but…but seeing that locket thing, seeing it right in front of me, it just brought everything back. It made me think of what I felt when…when…" he said, his voice flickering out.

He looked so small, sitting there in front of her, his head bowed in grief, his shoulders hunched. It scared her to see Ron, who was always so brave, look so defeated. She did not think about what she was going to do next; she just acted.

She put her arms around him and held him closer to her. She felt him gasp at the feel of her around him, and he reciprocated, his arms winding themselves around her. She did not know how, but they were on their feet now, standing in the shadowy darkness of the tent.

The hollow look in his eyes lessened somehow, and there was a tiny bit of light glimmering in them, like a candle at the end of a long, dark corridor. Hermione wanted to do something to put the light back into those eyes. She could not bear to see them look at her, to see them search her like that.

She took his face in her hands, because she wanted to see him, all of him, when she told him what she needed to say. What he needed to hear. He watched her carefully, the depth of his eyes boring into her.

"Ron, don't you ever, ever believe anything like that," she whispered. She was not scolding him; her voice was soft and gentle. "I love _you_. You are strong and brave and kind and perfect. Don't you ever believe that you aren't – aren't worth something, that you don't deserve something," she whispered, her hands still on his face.

The light came back to his eyes, and Hermione thought it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She wanted to cry out or laugh at the sight of it, of the sheer beauty of it. He was not defeated anymore; he had defeated what was in himself, the part of himself that had fed the locket. It was gone now, and he stood in front of her, whole and strong. Slowly, she let her hands fall, but he caught them, holding them to his chest, in a spot very close to his heart. He looked at her, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.

Then, he dropped her hands and put his arms around her, pulling her close to him. She wrapped her arms around him and turned her face so that it rested on his chest. She could feel his face resting on the top of her head so that they fit together perfectly.

They stood like for a long time because Hermione knew that was what Ron needed. She could feel the doubts he had harbored for so long disappear by the strength she had given him, and the strength he had given himself by talking to her. She could feel the pain he felt being conquered by the feel of her in his arms, the touch of her skin on hers. She could feel the anguish of his insecurities evaporate as she lifted her head slowly and kissed him softly, wiping away what had blemished their past, and opening the door for a new future, a beginning.

_Author's note: Well, that was incredibly long. I wanted to add that last bit about the Horcrux because I thought, inevitably, it would have to come up. The only thing that makes me nervous is that it's too cliché and fake. So, I know I've said this a thousand times, but reviews would be amazing!!_

_Also, I edited my profile page so that now when you click on it, there's actually something there _: )


	14. Moving

_Author's note: Thank you, thank you for all of your reviews!_

Chapter Fourteen:

The Burrow, which was normally crowded, was now reaching its breaking point. Hermione almost expected a door to break off or a window to crack due to all of the people now living under its roof. There was Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, of course; as well as Bill and Fleur, who had moved into George's old room; Percy, who had not moved back to his apartment near the ministry; Charlie, who had not yet gone back to Romania and did not, as far as Hermione knew, have any plans to go back any time soon; as well as George, Ginny, Ron, Harry, and Hermione. In all, there were now eleven people living at the Burrow; Hermione was sure the air supply would run out soon.

The morning after her talk with Ron about the locket, Hermione woke up just as the sun was rising; its golden beam ran right across her face, making it impossible to sleep. She stayed there in bed, the duvet twisted around her legs, and listened to the sounds of the morning. She felt different; it wasn't something she could describe, though she knew last night had something to do with it. Something had happened last night; they had grown up. It felt as though she had woken up from a very, very long sleep; it was a refreshing, light feeling, like breathing in that first breath of spring after winter. She was almost scared to see Ron today, she did not know if he felt the same way she did.

From an open window in the house, she heard a deafening crash and several shouted swear words. The sudden noise jolted her out of her reverie and she stood up quickly, tripping slightly at the blankets around her ankles. Untangling herself from them, she changed into clothes and rushed out of the tent toward the Burrow. She didn't even register that had no shoes on and her shirt was inside out.

She charged into the kitchen and collided with a solid object in front of her. Sent back a few steps, she looked up and saw Ron. She blushed and righted herself, now horribly aware that her hair was not brushed and at its very bushiest.

"Hi," she said softly, and all the said things from the night before forced their way between them in the tiny kitchen. "What was that noise?"

Ron looked down at her, his eyes searing through her, searching her. He looked behind him, as if he hadn't even noticed the racket before. "Oh, that? It was George, I think. He broke a bowl," he said, shrugging his shoulders and putting his hands in his pockets.

Hermione looked carefully at Ron and realized, with a rather uncomfortable jolt, that he looked terrible. His face was very pale and he had dark purple shadows under his eye. There was a fine imprint of a fabric on his cheek, and his hair looked worse than hers. It looked as though he had fought his way here.

"Ron," Hermione said slowly, reaching up to smooth down his hair, "you look…well, you look terrible," she admitted, lowering her hand slightly.

Ron raised his eyebrows and put his hand to his own head, "I expect that's because I slept in the hallway last night," he mumbled.

Before Hermione could respond, Percy came into the already packed kitchen. As he inched past Ron to get to a vacant chair, he jostled Ron's shoulder, sending him flying into Hermione. With a look of murder on his face, Ron turned to yell at his older brother, but his retort was lost; the kitchen was far too loud and crowded for Percy to even realize what he had done or hear Ron's angry retort.

Ron looked down at Hermione, who was pressed against the door. He motioned to the door behind her and she nodded, interpreting him correctly. She opened it and walked out, Ron following behind her. They sat on the steps outside the kitchen, looking out over the grass, glittering with dew in the early morning sun.

"So tell me, _why_ were you sleeping in the hallway last night?" Hermione said, turning to Ron, who had his face in his hands. He looked utterly exhausted.

"Well, when we were gone, Bill and Fleur moved into George's old room, so he sort of made himself at home in mine. When I got back to the house after being in the tent with you, he was already sleeping in my bed, and Harry was asleep on the camp bed," Ron groaned, rubbing his eyes.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief; at least Harry had beat Ron to the bedroom after his nightly visit to Ginny. She did not want to have to deal with a tired _and_ angry Ron. "But," she asked, "Why didn't you just sleep in the living room?"

Ron sighed deeply, "I couldn't, Charlie's in there. He and Percy shared a bedroom, but it's too small for the both of them now, so Percy sleeps there and Charlie sleeps on the couch."

Hermione nodded. "You really slept in the hallway all night?" she asked, trying to keep the bemusement out of her voice.

Ron gave a short, humorless laugh, "Well, I _tried_. It wasn't very comfortable, so really I was just lying there all night long until George woke up and stepped on me," Ron said, rubbing his leg as if he was feeling it all over again.

"Well, you can't do it again tonight, you should find somewhere else to sleep," Hermione said. She wanted to offer her tent to him, but she wasn't sure how he would take it.

"Well, I was thinking maybe…maybe…I know it's really soon and everything, but…maybe we could just go to Shell Cottage," Ron mumbled. Hermione glanced at him and saw that his ears had turned red.

The courage in her, the courage she had found last night, did the talking for her. "I'd like that," she said boldly, and she marveled at its audacity. Ron turned to her, his head slightly tilted to one side.

"Yeah?" he asked, a tiny note of uncertainty tucked away in its happiness.

Hermione nodded earnestly, "Yes, I would. And I won't even have to pack, because I've already done it!" she said brightly, standing up and holding her hand out to Ron, who was still seated. He grinned and took it, standing up to.

They were now both standing on the top stair, which was not very wide. Ron inched closer to avoid falling off, and Hermione felt her heart speed up. She looked up at him, a tiny smile playing at the corners of her mouth. But it didn't have a chance to develop into a smile; Ron leaned down, the sun caught in his hair, and kissed her softly on the lips.

Hermione was glad of his hand on her lower back; she was so taken by his kiss that she swayed slightly, and was dangerously close to falling off the stairs. The thoughts coursed through her brain so loudly she was sure Ron could hear them. _I'm moving in with Ron tonight. I'm actually going to be moving in with him_ she thought to herself, repeating the words over and over again because they didn't seem like they could be true.

They swayed slightly on the spot, Hermione's arms around Ron's neck and his arms on her lower back. Then, something to their left made a very loud noise and they broke apart. Hermione took a step backwards and felt the nothingness behind her. She shouted out and Ron, almost unthinkingly, grabbed her hand and pulled her back up. She looked around and found Harry in the doorway, torn between amusement and discomfort.

"Sorry to, er, break you two up, but breakfast is ready and…well, everyone can see you," he said, his eyes firmly planted on Hermione's tent in the distance.

"Right," Ron mumbled, and he walked into the kitchen, his hand still on Hermione's.

The three of them sat down at the only chairs still available, which were near Mrs. Weasley's end of the table. She smiled kindly at the three of them; the relief that all four of them were back safely was etched on every line of her face. Hermione felt her heart sink as she realized what grief she would cause Mrs. Weasley when they told her that they were indeed leaving again.

Hermione looked at Ron, who was sitting next to her. His pale, tired face was set in a look of resolute. He gave her a fleeting, nervous grin, and her heart skipped several beats. From under the table, her hand found his and she gripped it tightly.

"Erm, can I say something?" Ron asked rather awkwardly, his voice rising above the chatter and buzz of everyone else in the kitchen. Slowly they all fell quiet and looked at Ron. With so much attention on him, his ears grew red; Hermione squeezed his hand, and he began talking.

"Er, well, I – I was just…I'm moving, erm, tonight," Ron said uncomfortably, looking down at his plate as he made his far-from-eloquent announcement. It took a lot for Hermione not to grimace at it.

Harry, who had been serving himself juice, stopped short, the jug tilted so that he missed his cup and began pouring juice all down the table. No one seemed to notice.

"What do you mean, Ron?" Mrs. Weasley asked. Her voice was calm, but it was laced with poison. Ron seemed to notice this; his face turned a ghostly shade of white.

"Well, Bill gave me his house when he moved here. I was planning on moving in later in the summer, but last night I realized there's really no where for me to sleep here, so…so I thought I'd just move in there a little earlier," Ron said, still not looking at anyone else. He seemed to have found the stove a particularly interesting object, and was staring at that instead.

"Didn't – didn't you sleep in your bed last night?" Mrs. Weasley asked. Hermione looked up and saw that Harry was staring at her. She felt her cheeks grow red as she realized that he thought Ron had slept in the tent with her. She shook her head vigorously, and he seemed to shrink a few inches in relief.

"No," Ron said. "I slept in the hallway outside of my bedroom. George has been sleeping in my room because Bill and Fleur are in his," Ron said. From down the table, George made a small sound in the back of his throat, but Ron spoke before he could utter any words. "It's fine, George. But I don't really fancy spending another night lying on the floor outside my bedroom, so I was thinking it would just be best to sleep at Shell Cottage," Ron said.

Hermione looked up and saw Mrs. Weasley exchange a look with her husband. Hermione took it as a good sign that Mrs. Weasley had not yelled, but she could see a gaping hole in the plan: Ron had been using the singular; it sounded as though only he would be leaving.

"Well," Mrs. Weasley said weakly, "I guess I can't say no, can I? Realistically, there's no where you can sleep."

Ron gave his mother a grateful smile; it was clear he had been expecting a shouting match. From underneath the table, his grip on Hermione's hand loosened a little.

"But," Mrs. Weasley said pointedly, "You'll come here every day, won't you? You've been gone for so long. I'm _only_ saying yes because I know you have nowhere to sleep. Buy you'll be here every day, right?"

Ron gave his mother a reassuring smile, which she returned. "Of course I will mum, Hermione doesn't make pancakes half as well as you do."

Hermione heard herself let out a gasp, though she did not know she had done it. Mrs. Weasley's smile slid off her face and her jaw dropped open as her eyes flickered from Ron to Hermione and back again. There were whispers issuing around the table now. Hermione felt her cheeks grow red as eyes darted to her as well. She glanced up fleetingly and saw that Harry had bowed his head, biting his lip to suppress the urge not to laugh, Ginny was shaking her head in what was clearly disbelief at Ron's response.

Ron seemed to have realized that he had said the wrong thing a moment too late. He swore under his breath as he looked around the room, assessing the damage he had caused. It was Mrs. Weasley who spoke first.

"What do you mean, Ron? Why will Hermione be there?" Mrs. Weasley asked, her voice dripping with the poison it had held earlier. Hermione winced at its menacing tone.

"Well, I – she…she's coming too," Ron faltered, his eyes dark with fear. From underneath the table he was holding Hermione's hand as if it were a lifeline.

Ginny wolf-whistled, but it did not help to break the tension in the room, which seemed to have turned all of the air in the room into something solid.

"Oh," said Mrs. Weasley faintly, and her eyes turned to Hermione, who moved uncomfortably in her chair. "Oh, I see," she said.

From halfway down the table, there was a peal of laughter. Hermione looked over and saw that George was bent over laughing; clearly he found the situation very humorous.

Now all eyes were on George, who continued to laugh, oblivious of the awkward scene in front of him. He rocked back and forth in his chair, his eyes streaming, as he choked for breath. When he seemed to have found enough air to make works, he looked around the room at their incredulous faces, and looked almost shocked.

"Oh, come on," he gasped, "This is _Ron_ we're talking about, isn't it? He's asked a girl...he's asked _Hermione_ to come and live with him, and of course he tells everyone in the most awkward, the most uncomfortable way possible. It's just…it's just…" but he did not finish the sentence; he dissolved into laughter again.

Ron's mouth opened angrily as he stared angrily at his brother, and Hermione felt her face grow, if possible, even redder. She was not sure if George was helping the situation.

From across the table, there was another snort of laughter. Whatever George found so humorous must have amused Ginny as well; she had her hand pressed firmly against her mouth, clearly trying not to laugh.

Soon, everyone but Ron, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley were laughing. Hermione didn't find it funny at all; and she stared around at everyone as howls of laughter filled the kitchen. From under the table, Ron's hand was clenched so tightly to hers she thought her fingers might never regain feeling.

"It's not funny!" Ron was repeating indignantly, but it was no use; everyone was so far gone, they couldn't here him.

When the laughter had finally died down, Hermione stared at the ceiling, waiting apprehensively for what would happen next. From beside her, Ron cleared his throat.

"Well, now that you're all through," he said angrily, and George hiccupped into his plate. "I think I'll go finish packing…Harry, are you coming," he added as he stood up.

Mrs. Weasley stood up too, and Hermione would have bet anything that she didn't know that she had. Mrs. Weasley was staring at Ron, who was on her right, to Harry, who was on her left, the pitcher of juice – not empty of its contents – still held absurdly in the air. Harry was staring at Ron with his mouth open, his eyes very wide.

"Ron," Mrs. Weasley shouted, evidently giving up on trying to make her voice sound civilized. "Tell me who else is going with you before I change my mind and curse you to your bed so you can never leave," she screeched, looking around the kitchen table for possible victims.

Ron, who had taken a step back at his mother's raised voice, tripped on the chair, nearly falling over backwards. Once he righted himself, he looked at his mother and said, "Me, Hermione, Harry, and…and Ginny," he added, as his sister's eyes burned on him.

"No," Mrs. Weasley said forcefully. "Not Ginny, she's..:"

"Of age," Ginny cut in, before her mother could finish. "I'm of age mum, and I want to go with them. I turned seventeen in the spring, I can go. At this time last year they were planning on running around the country in a tent. You can't possibly say I can't go because I'm just as old as they where when…"

"Ginny, that's enough," Mr. Weasley said forcefully, speaking for the first time since the conversation had been breached. Ginny, who had risen to a level of hysterics, gave her father an unfriendly look.

Mr. Weasley stood up too, and Hermione saw him look at Mrs. Weasley. She could feel the silent conversations pulsing through the air as the two exchanged glances. Hermione felt distinctly left out; she wondered if others felt like this when she and Ron held conversations with no words.

"Alright, you four," Mr. Weasley said, once their silent conversation had ended. He sighed deeply and looked around the table at the four of them. "Well, you _are_ all of age, so we can't really…Just visit every day, okay?" He said looking as though he had lost a battle. Mrs. Weasley had her arms crossed, clearly unhappy with the outcome of the situation.

Everyone rose to leave, eager to get away from what had become one of the most uncomfortable meals at the Burrow. Hermione sat there thinking, and when she looked up, she realized to her intense embarrassment that she had been left alone with Mrs. Weasley, who was now surveying her closely over the top of her mug of tea.

"Mrs. Weasley, I…" Hermione whispered, starting a sentence she never really intended to finish.

"I'm sorry," Mrs. Weasley said, and Hermione's mouth dropped open. Out of everything she had expected Mrs. Weasley to say, an apology was not one of them.

"Wh-what?" Hermione said weakly, wondering if should have just stayed in bed today.

"I'm sorry for…reacting the way I did. I didn't realize…I didn't know that you…and Ron…" Mrs. Weasley said quietly.

Before Hermione knew what was happening, she was being crushed in a vise-like hug that stole all of the air in her chest and forced it out in an audible gasp. She could hear Mrs. Weasley saying something above her, but ear was pressed into Mrs. Weasley's chest, making everything muffled.

When Mrs. Weasley finally let go, her eyes were shining with the tears that were threatening to roll down her cheeks. She sniffed nosily and waved her wand carelessly so that the juice Harry had spilled earlier now turned bright green.

"Well, you should better start packing," Mrs. Weasley said, now positively beaming at Hermione. She bustled out of the kitchen, humming faintly to herself.

Hermione was now alone in the kitchen, left to ponder what on earth just happened. Footsteps announced the arrival of someone else, and Hermione turned to see Ginny, who was grinning.

"Well now you've done it," she said, looking at Hermione, shaking her head.

"Done what?" Hermione said, completely confused.

:"You've set mum off, I bet she's gone off to plan your wedding," Ginny said happily as Hermione's face grew red. She felt her heart come to an uncomfortable stop at Ginny's words, but she refused to let Ginny see it.

"I have to go and pack," she said shortly, leaving the kitchen before Ginny could have time to say something else that would make the ground from under her spin.

Hermione banged the back door open, breathing in deep breaths of summer air. She strode to the tent, torn between wanting to forget everything that had just happened and wanting to analyze every single detail.

She walked into the tent and found Ron lounging comfortably on one of the sofas in the living room. She stopped short and marveled at the ease with which they could walk into each other's lives.

"Hi," she said quietly, sitting on the arm of the sofa he was sitting on. He turned to her and grinned, the happiness virtually leaking out of him.

"Well, that could have gone better," Ron said, shrugging as Hermione laughed.

"Better?" she teased him. "It would have gone better if…if…" she said, struggling to find the right words.

"Yeah, well, everything turned out fine," Ron said defensively, and he grabbed her knees and pulled her down next to him on the sofa. It was a tight fit; the sofa was really only meant to seat one, and Hermione found herself mostly on top of Ron.

"You should be packing," she whispered, her face barely an inch from his.

"Yeah, I should be," Ron said, his voice sounding hazy.

As they kissed, the excitement of moving caught between their lips, the adrenalin coursing through their bodies. Hermione felt herself gasp for breath, her hair curtaining around them. Ron's hands were on her back as she gripped at the front of his shirt.

When they broke apart, Ron looked as though he had been traveling by Floo powder again, and Hermione knew that she didn't look much better. She pushed her hair of her face, and got off of the chair she and Ron had been sharing.

"Come on, I'll help you," she said, because she knew that he would never do it by himself now.

"Okay," Ron said, his voice very low as he continued to look at Hermione, his eyes slightly glazed.

She laughed, but not unkindly, and grabbed his hand, trying to pull him up. He trailed after her out of the tent, tripping slightly over his large feet. He regained his composure halfway up the lawn, catching up to Hermione, his arm wrapping his arm around her waist. She smiled at the feel of it, warming her up in a way the sun beating down on them could not.

They climbed the stairs to Ron's attic room, Hermione trying to keep her giggling under control so that they would not attract too much attention. They had both silently agreed that they had gotten enough of that this morning at breakfast.

Ron's room was mercifully empty; Harry must have been with Ginny and George was probably on one of his long walks that always took him to Fred. Hermione perched herself on his unmade bed as he rummaged around for lost objects. It looked like the room had been recently bombed, but Hermione didn't say anything about it.

She sat back on his pillows and watched his red head dart around, picking up socks at random and the odd pair of pants. He seemed to have spread out a lot in the few hours they had been back. His arms laden with random objects, he put the pile down on the edge of the camp down and sighed, as if he had just been through grueling work. Hermione laughed, and moved so that she was sitting further back in his pillows.

"Do you have everything?" she asked, looking at the heaping pile on Harry's bed as he sat down in front of her.

"Yeah, that's all of it, though I suppose I'll be here again if I forget stuff, mum really won't ever let us fully leave."

"Oh, that's right. You'll be here everyday because I…what was it? I don't make pancakes half as well as your mum does," Hermione said, a tiny note of accusation woven into her voice.

Ron looked up at her, his face apologetic. "I didn't really mean that, you know," he said softly. He moved a little closer to her.

Hermione felt her heart beating loudly in her chest, threatening to break free. Ron was so close now, his face inches from hers. Her breath was stolen from her chest, it was caught somewhere between her heart and her throat.

"Y-you didn't?" She managed to gasp out, as he put his hands on the headboard behind her to brace himself. She was looking up at him, his face so close she could have described every shade of blue in his eyes.

"No," he said softly, and he leaned forward and kissed her.

There was a certain excitement this time; it was like the kiss in the tent minutes ago. Hermione felt that familiar tingle in her spine again as she lost all feeling in her toes. The scent of Ron was everywhere; it filled her up like a hot drink, making her feel dizzy and dream-like. She slid down a little in the pillows, Ron following her.

A bird outside their window chirped, and somewhere far below the sound of another dish being broken resonated through the house, but they did not care. Hermione slid down a little lower and Ron adjusted his hands to follow her. Hermione had her hands in Ron's hair as his legs pressed against hers.

As she slid down once more, she found herself lying on his bed. He was over her, his arms the only thing stopping him from being completely on top of her. She looked up at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she struggled for breath. He was gasping too, and looking at her as if he could not believe she was actually there.

:"Well, this is different," he whispered, his voice cracking.

Hermione nodded, not knowing what was going to happen next. His hands still firmly on either side of her, he leaned down and kissed her again, erasing all of the thoughts that were chasing around in her head.

The sound of footsteps on the landing before Ron's bedroom broke apart; Ron sat up, taking Hermione's hand and pulling her into a sitting position. She jumped off the bed and took the first thing she saw in Ron's pile of belonging and started to fold it.

The door banged open and George walked in, looking curiously at the two of them. Hermione had to admit they did look a little odd. Ron was sitting in the middle of his bed looking as though he had just been punched and Hermione, looking down at her hands, realized she was trying to fold a magazine.

"Have you seen Ginny?" he asked, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Hermione shook her head, answering for the two of them; it did not look as though Ron would be regaining the ability of speech any time soon. "No, I haven't seen her since breakfast," she said, playing with the magazine in her hands.

George gave one last sweeping look of the room, and then left, slamming the door with a sharp bang. Ron jumped a little, the noise seeming to wake him up. He stood up and walked to Hermione. He took the magazine gently out of her hands and placed it back on the pile in front of them.

"I am so looking forward to that never happening again," Ron said grinning.

Hermione smiled, as he leaned forward and kissed her again. She felt her head spin. She wondered what would happen once the moved; everything would be different.

_Author's note: I have no idea why but this was actually a hard chapter to write; this is my third draft and I'm still not entirely happy with it…so I expect I'll be editing it soon. Originally, it was going to be the chapter where Ron and Hermione moved to Shell Cottage, but then I realized that if that happened, this chapter would be about thirty pages long. So, this is kind of a gateway chapter full of fluff, which will lead to chapter 15, the chapter where they move to Shell Cottage. Reviews would be amazing!_


	15. Shell Cottage

_Author's Note: Thank you for the reviews. I know I've said it 1,000 times but it doesn't make it any less true – they were all amazing and I loved them!_

_I hope everyone likes the chapter…get ready for fluff!_

Chapter Fifteen:

Ron spent the rest of the morning packing up his room, which turned out to be a two person job. Hermione sat cross-legged on his bed as he tried to sneak everything he had ever owned into his duffle bag. She convinced him to leave the Chudley Cannons duvet at home; though she compromised and allowed him to take some of the posters, as long as he didn't put them up in the living room. She also stopped him from taking his entire collection of Quidditch magazines, which filled seven large boxes. Again, they compromised and he took one box, stowing the others back under his bed.

Mrs. Weasley came upstairs several times throughout the course of the morning bringing piles of folded laundry. There was some suspicion as to her actions; Ron didn't own nearly half of what she was bringing him (this was confirmed when he found, to his intense embarrassment, a pair of Ginny's underwear). She also gave Hermione knowing looks as she walked out, her eyes darting between them a little too often to be considered entirely benign.

"She's insane, she really is," Ron said through gritted teeth as his mother's back disappeared behind the closed door for the fifth time that hour.

"She's just…just…" Hermione stammered, struggling to find the right word to describe what Ron's mother was exactly. "Happy," she decided finally, finishing rather lamely.

Ron, who was bent double rummaging around in the bottom drawer of his dresser, stood upright and whipped around to face Hermione, his face incredulous. "You give her too much credit, Hermione. She's mad," he said, and he continued to pursue the lost object in his drawer.

Hermione looked over at his bag, which was propped open next to her. It was practically overflowing with things he probably did not need. She looked up as Ron emptied another armful of things onto the pile.

"Ron, do you really need all of this?" she asked, pulling out a shirt that did not look like it would make it past his head.

"What do you mean?" he asked, looking at his bag.

"Well, Shell Cottage is…a cottage. There's really not a lot of room, is there?" she pointed out, sure that he had forgotten this crucial detail.

"Oh yeah," Ron said vaguely, and he emptied the duffle bag onto the floor to start packing again. It took all of the self control Hermione had to not groan at this; at the rate they were going, they would be moving out next January.

From several levels below, Mrs. Weasley's voice echoed through the floor, announcing lunch. Ron, who was surrounded by the contents of his duffle bag, looked longingly at the door. Hermione, who had no packing to do, hopped off the bed.

"I'll bring something up to you," she told him, kissing him on the cheek as she navigated her way out of his bedroom. She paused in the doorway, "When I'm gone, don't try and sneak anything back into your bag, alright?"

Ron looked up from his sea of possessions and gave her a lighthearted grin. "What? You don't like the blanket?" he asked in mock surprise, pulling at the bright orange duvet with pictures of the Chudley Cannons on his bed. She shook her head vehemently and he laughed again.

She met Ginny, who had been looking for Hermione, on the landing. Closing the door behind her so as to shield Ginny from the mess within, Hermione motioned to the stairs, and they walked to the kitchen together.

"Ron's not coming? He's actually missing a meal?" Ginny asked, unsuccessfully hiding the disbelief in her voice – it sounded more like taunting than an innocent question.

"He had too much packing to do," Hermione answered, finding it hard to side with Ron on this point. "Are you almost done packing?" she asked Ginny in a transparent attempt to turn the conversation away from Ron.

"Sure," Ginny said evasively, and Hermione turned to her. Ginny had bowed her head, so the curtain of red hair obstructed her face from view. Hermione opened her mouth to ask Ginny what she meant, but they had reached the kitchen, and the thought was driven out of her mind.

The scene from breakfast was clearly not forgotten; all eyes were on her as she entered the room. She felt her cheeks grow red and instantly wished that Ron was next to her here, sharing some of the discomfort.

Mrs. Weasley jumped out of her chair and ushered Hermione into one of the only chairs available, which was unfortunately near Mrs. Weasley. All through lunch, Hermione could feel Mrs. Weasley's eyes on her. She squirmed in her seat, made uncomfortable by all of the covert attention she had. When she didn't think she could take any more of the burning stares, she excused herself from the table early, taking a sandwich for Ron as she left.

When she arrived in Ron's room, it did not look like he had made much progress; he was still completely surrounded by the contents of his bag. She stood in the doorway, her mouth partially open in shock.

"Please tell me you've accomplished something," she said, shaking her head.

Ron looked up, his face practically glowing with pride. "Actually, I'm all done," he announced, standing up and kicking aside the things he had decided to leave behind.

She stared at him. "You're joking. You went from taking too much to taking nothing at all?" she asked.

Ron held up his bag, which was miraculously full. "Actually I went from taking absolutely everything to taking what I need," he said proudly.

She took a step forward so that they were very close. She leaned in to kiss him. When they were centimeters away, his face broke into a grin.

"I brought the blanket though," he said, and she took a step back.

"You did not!" she exclaimed, and her eyes flew to his bed, which was bare. "You did!" she shouted, as he stood there, laughing.

"Try and get it," Ron said, holding the bag over his head as she vainly jumped trying to get it. He laughed, but not unkindly.

"That's not fair!" she cried, her fingers grasping the air; the bag several inches out of her reach.

Ron, who was nearest the door, opened it and backed out, the duffle bag over his head, laughing as he called to her over his shoulder. She chased after him, their laughter echoing through the house; she did not think about how detrimental this flirtation would be when they saw Ron's family next. He was a staircase ahead of her; his legs were longer and he had had a head start. He ran down, the bag held high as rounded the last staircase and sprinted through the kitchen, Hermione a few seconds after him. They passed Mrs. Weasley and Fleur, both of whom looked caught between confusion and amusement.

In the backyard, Ron paused and Hermione caught up to him. She was slightly out of breath, her breaths coming shallow and close together. Ron's chest rose and fell as he eyed her cautiously, the bag still held high in the air.

She took a step closer, and he did not back away. Her blood was pounding in her head now, but it was not because she had been running. She tilted her face up and kissed Ron on the lips. She knew he would be surprised by this, but a second later, she could feel his arms around her. There was a muffled sound as the bag he was holding slipped out of his grip at the feel of her lips on his.

She broke away, a grin spreading over her face. She bent down and took the bag, then began running across the lawn with it before Ron could register what had just happened. By the time he had realized what she had done, she had managed to locate the blanket in his bag and pulled it out.

"Ha, ha!" she cried as she ran around the tent in circles, her laughter absorbing into the blue sky above them. There was nothing that could contain her happiness, nothing to hold her in.

"You can't _do_ that to me!" Ron cried, chasing after her as she ran with the horribly orange blanket. He grabbed the end of it, which was trailing in the ground. She felt herself lurch backwards as he planted his feet firmly into the ground, refusing to give up. She tried to run from him, but he was stronger than her.

"Fine, fine, I give up," she said at last, dropping the blanket after several seconds of an unsuccessful tugging match. Ron grinned at her, the blanket in his hands clashing horribly with his hair.

She sat down on the grass, and he sat next to her, though he still clutched the corner of the blanket in his fist. She closed her eyes for a moment because the smell of Ron was everywhere and it made her jumpy with some sort of unknown excitement.

They sat in the middle of the lawn, the blanket twisted around them, for several silent minutes, the sounds of the summer saying everything that they could not.

"So, it's actually happening," Ron said, leaning back a little, his eyes focused on something Hermione could not see. She felt her heart stop; she had tried to convince herself that Ron would not have last minute reservations, but it sounded like the conversation was going in that direction.

"Y-you want it to, right?" Hermione asked, her voice very small. At the sound of it, Ron sat upright, and she was the only thing he was looking at.

"Hermione, _of course_ I do. Don't you?" he said, his voice low and reassuring, but the question was asked rather hesitantly.

"More than anything," she answered truthfully. And she could see his heart brim with happiness at her answer; it spilled out as a smile spread over his face. She had lost track of what exactly they were talking about; it seemed as though there was no specific points, but what they were saying encompassed everything.

"I've wanted it for a long time," he said, leaning back again. She smiled and leaned back too. He scooted closer to her; his intentions transparent. She smiled at this and leaned against him, her head on his shoulder as they sat there in the sun, its warmth spreading over their faces.

"Oh," said a clipped voice from behind them. They turned around and saw Ginny and Harry standing there, their hands entwined between them. Hermione jumped up, Ron a second after her. Harry's eyes flickered from the blanket still in Ron's hands to their faces. Ron shook his head in a don't-even-ask-it's-not-worth-it sort of way, and Harry nodded, understanding.

"Anyways, we just came to tell you two that we're not going to come with you two tonight, we'll be there tomorrow morning," Ginny said as the silence between the four of them stretched on. Ron was staring at their hands woven together, and Hermione nudged him; it did not appear as though he had been listening.

"What?" he asked, twisting the corner of the blanket in his hands.

"I said we're not coming tonight, we're coming tomorrow," Ginny said impatiently, her eyes squinted a little in the sunlight, making her expression seem slightly meaner than Hermione knew she intended.

"Why not?" Ron asked, and Hermione noticed there was no trace of disappointment in his voice.

Ginny and Harry looked at each other, and in that moment, Hermione understood. They had never planned on coming with them tonight; they were always going to come later. Hermione, who had been staring at the ground under her, glanced up and saw Ginny looking at her. Hermione smiled quickly, gratefully, and Ginny nodded. They seemed to have become infinitely closer in the span of those few seconds.

"Well, it's your house, we thought you should have it to yourself, at least for a night," Harry answered, and Ron's confusion gave way to a look of dawning comprehension.

"Oh, that's really… it's really…thanks," Ron said, his ears turning red in embarrassment. Harry smiled in an uncomfortable sort of way, and he did not look at all displeased when Ginny grabbed his wrist and steered him back to the Burrow.

Ron watched them go, his mouth open slightly in surprise. After a few minutes, Hermione tugged at his arm, partially to remind him that she was still there. At the feel of her touch, he started a little, then looked down at her.

"Did you know they were going to do that?" he asked, still a little dumbfounded. She shook her head, and began to follow Harry and Ginny back to the Burrow.

They spent the rest of the room closeted in Ron's room with Harry and Ginny, just talking and passing the time. Ron had promised that they would stay until dinnertime, and Hermione, in her state of excitement, felt the long hours of the afternoon drift by painfully slowly.

Mrs. Weasley called everyone down to dinner at seven thirty, much later than they normally ate. Hermione tried to be kind about it and pushed out the thought that Mrs. Weasley had done this on purpose to postpone their departure.

Everyone was at the Burrow for dinner; Mrs. Weasley – much to Ron's embarrassment – had decided to schedule an impromptu goodbye party for Ron and Hermione. When they arrived in the kitchen, it was so packed with people Hermione actually had trouble breathing. She was glad when Mr. Weasley, who was pressed against the sink, shouted that this arrangement could not work, and they should all go outside for dinner. They moved everything outside, and set up a long table in the middle of the tent-free lawn.

Percy arrived ten minutes late, bringing a girl that Hermione did not know. Ginny, who was standing near Hermione and saw her confused expression, leaned over and whispered, "That's Audrey," in Hermione's ear. She nodded in thanks and looked at the girl, Percy's fiancée.

Hermione's first impression of Audrey was that she was someone who should not be crossed. She was pretty in a traditional sort of way with long dark hair cascading down her back, clear blue eyes, and porcelain skin. But she also gave of an unmistakably patronizing air. Her lips were always pursed, and no matter how tall the person was, she always seemed to be looking down at someone.

"This is _exactly_ the type of person Percy would marry," Ron whispered in her ear as they finally sat down to eat. Hermione smiled.

"You don't like her?" she asked, tilting her head toward him so that no one would hear her.

Ron gave a hollow sort of laugh as he observed his older brother's fiancée, "She's Percy in girl form; so I don't know how much I _could _like her," he whispered back honestly.

Dinner passed slowly with many long, stilted silences. Audrey was clearly trying to impress Mrs. and Mr. Weasley, but it seemed that the more she tried, the more she failed. As she droned on and on about her department – she was a court scribe for the Wizengamot – people began to disengage and talk amongst themselves. Like Percy, she continued talking, oblivious to the fact that no one but her husband-to-be was listening to her, and seeming not to care in the slightest.

After desert, Mrs. Weasley tried to convince Ron to stay for a cup of tea, but he adamantly refused, despite her begging. Hermione said goodbye to everyone, her heart fluttering in her chest. Everything around her became a blur in her excitement and she started to lose focus of what was going on around her; she said goodbye to George three times and forgot to say goodbye to Charlie entirely.

Much to their embarrassment, the Weasleys, Harry, and Audrey decided to come outside to see them off. They stood in the backyard, the lawn looking empty in the absence of Hermione's tent. Hermione turned to Ron, a smile dancing on her face, her stomach jumping with exhilaration.

"I'm so excited," she breathed, softly so that only Ron could hear. He looked down at her at the sound of her voice, a smile spreading across his face.

"I could kiss you for that, but I think that if I did, my mum would faint," he said, and she laughed.

She held out her hand and he gripped it tightly; he was just as anxious as she was. They waved to the crowd of people that had gathered near the back door, and Ron squeezed her hand, telling her to leave. She understood the gesture and twisted toward nothingness, the black falling in on her, crushing her.

When she could breathe again, they were standing in front of Shell Cottage, which looked exactly as she had remembered it. The sea, which was behind them, seemed to crash down on her as she realized that they were standing in exactly the same place they had stood on the night they had Apparated from the Malfoy's. Despite her happiness, she shuddered a little, and she subconsciously raised her hand to her neck, where the thin white scar was visible. Ron looked over at her, concern clouding his eyes and chasing away his smile.

"Are you alright? If this is a bad idea, we can leave, I don't mind sleeping on the floor again," Ron said, his words coming quickly as he continued to look at her.

Hermione shook her head, feeling guilty for ruining the moment. "No, I'm fine," she said, a note of finality in her voice. Her heart melted a little at his gesture; she knew that he would have happily slept on the floor if she had asked him to.

Ron continued to look unconvinced, his eyes boring into her. She tugged on his hand, bringing him closer to the house. "Come on," she said, her voice echoing around the cliff. Ron paused for a moment, and then followed her, his face rearranging itself into a smile. They paused at the front door, and Ron fished around in his pocket for the key. Hermione held her breath; they had gotten this far, she did not know what she would do if Ron lost the key.

"I got it!" he exclaimed after what seemed like hours of searching. He put it into the door and the lock clicked. The sun was setting, the balmy night air playing at their faces. Hermione felt herself shivering, though she was not the least bit cold.

He opened the door for her, standing aside to let her in first. She smiled and crossed the threshold, dropping her small bag on the table near the door and looking around, her mouth slightly open.

It was beautiful. The room, which had many windows looking over the ocean, was bathed in a golden glow as the sun beyond the horizon began to sink into the water. The whitewashed walls had tiny shells pressed into them, adding to the light, airy feel of the place. Hermione turned to Ron, who had closed the door behind them and was staring around the room, his face a mixture of awe, disbelief, and pride.

"Not bad," he said, putting his hands in his pockets and looking at Hermione, as if to gauge her response. She laughed and ran into his arms.

"Ron, it's perfect!" she cried, and his laughter rang in her ears. They stood like that for a few minutes, the sounds of the sea resonating through the walls of the house and seeping into their hearts. Then, Hermione broke apart.

"Come on, let's look at the rest of the house," her exclaimed, her giddiness making her voice louder than normal. She took Ron's hand again and led him out of the living room.

Shell Cottage was much smaller than she had remembered; its walls didn't seem to be able to contain the two of them as they ran through the house, their laughter echoing off the walls. The kitchen was small and cramped, a table barely fitting into the small square of space. The dining room, which was off of the kitchen, was larger, a long mahogany table taking up most of the space. There was a small guest bedroom off of the living room, the place where Griphook had stayed after they had escaped from the Malfoy's. It had a strange smell; the odor of raw meet the goblin had demanded seemed to have lingered on in the room. Ron scrunched up his nose and shut the door; Hermione knew they would never use that bedroom.

Upstairs were two more guest bedrooms, each with two small beds and views of the ocean beyond. Hermione wondered fleetingly if she would be sleeping in one of them; they had not discussed sleeping arrangements. Across from the two bedrooms was a bathroom and a study, where Bill's papers still littered the floor.

At the end of the hall was the master bedroom. Hermione hesitated in front of its doors as Ron pushed it open to let himself in. The discomfort of the situation was beginning to creep below her skin; she wished they had discussed more before hand.

"Hermione, you have to see this!" Ron called from behind the closed door. Hermione took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest, and pushed open the double doors into the bedroom.

She gasped audibly, the sound of it hanging in the air in front of her. She had not meant to do it but it couldn't be helped; the room was beautiful. The far wall was a large window, so that the ocean and the room seemed to become one; Hermione could not tell where one stopped and the other began. With the sun setting beyond the window, it looked as though she was standing in front of a painting. The bedroom was light and airy, the walls painted a pretty sea foam green.

Against the wall of glass was the bed. Hermione's first foolish thought was that it was made of clouds. It was very large and very high up off the ground. The duvet was a thick white material; Hermione thought that only clouds or magic could make something so pure and light. It was covered in pillows, which seemed to be made of the same substance. Hermione walked to the bed, running her hand along the blanket, reassuring herself that it was real. She turned to Ron, who was standing in the corner, watching her take everything in.

"It's amazing," she said, looking around the room, her voice breathy and soft. Ron smiled at the sound of it, folding his arms and looking very proud.

He walked over to her so that he was standing opposite her in front of the great bed between them. "I know, and I thought Bill was exaggerating," Ron said, grinning. He looked down at the bed.

"Doesn't it make you want to…" she started, but stopped abruptly, blushing at what she was going to say, and how foolish and childish it would sound.

"Jump on it?" Ron asked, finishing her sentence. She looked up at him and smiled slowly, because it was exactly what she was going to say. Without another word, they took off their shoes, which clattered noisily to the dark wood of the floor. Hermione's heart pounded in her chest and she could hear her pulse beating loudly in her ears.

Ron jumped up first, and stood over Hermione, holding out a hand to her. Wondering what on earth she was about to do, she took it and he pulled her up.

It felt like floating in air; surely it was made of magic. They stared at each other in the half light, the sun sinking fast behind them, drowning in the dark blue water. It was a strange time of day, somewhere in between sunset and night; the light was grey as it poured in through the window. Hermione felt nervous all of the sudden as she stood facing Ron.

"Hermione," Ron said, his voice coming from somewhere far away, it added to the dream-like quality of the room.

"Yes?"

"We own a _house_," he said, as if that made everything wrong in the world alright; as if it changed everything, because it did.

"I know," she said, and she looked up to see him grinning. She smiled, and the pace of her heart doubled so that her heart nearly escaped, leaping right out of her chest. Her fingers tingled with excitement, and the very familiar tingle ran up her spine.

"_I know_!" she repeated, louder this time, it was as though her voice had unleashed something. She laughed as Ron jumped up, nearly hitting his head on the ceiling. She copied him, feeling foolish for a moment before she let herself go.

They jumped on the bed, their laughter echoing off the walls, the feel of the clouds on their bare feet. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world, jumping around on that bed, the feel of the clouds under her and Ron inches away, his red head bounding up and down. Tendrils of laughter escaped from her mouth as she jumped, feeling weightless and full of happiness. Once or twice they met in the middle, their lips brushing together briefly. Their chests rose and fell rapidly in a perfect rhythm; though neither of them was tired. To an outsider, Hermione realized, it might have looked ridiculous: two eighteen year olds jumping around on a bed, but Hermione knew there was nothing else she'd rather do at that moment, and no one else she'd rather do it with.

Hermione felt a hand on hers, and she was pulled down into the ocean of white clouds. She shouted, the happy sound of it echoing around the room as she fell onto the bed. The blankets cascaded around them, the ethereal white forming a heaven. Hermione could feel Ron from somewhere near her, but she could not see him. She sat up, pushing the pillows and blankets aside.

She laughed as she realized he was doing the same. His hair was on end from where he had fallen onto the bed, and she knew she didn't look much better. Wading through the mass of white, they met in the middle, their breathing coming in loud gasps, its sound mixing with the waves beyond.

She did not know what to say, there were a thousand words bursting to break free. But then he leaned forward and kissed her, and she understood. Some things could be said without using words at all. The air changed between them as they kissed; it was full of the things they were trying to say. She could feel his hands on her back as she tried to tell him everything. And he understood.

At some point – Hermione did not know when – they had fallen back onto the pillows that rested against the headboard. Hermione looked up at Ron, who was once again above her, his arms on either side of her. He blinked down at her, his eyes a deep blue and slightly glazed looking. Her words died in her throat. It was as though the sounds in the world were turned off, the constant ebb of the waves seemed to dim as he looked at her and she looked at him. There was nothing real in the world, nothing but them. He blinked again and then moved so that he was next to her, lying on the pillows. Hermione turned on her side to face him, his arm draped around her waist. This was different. It was new.

They inched closer again, and the sounds of the world stopped again. Hermione reached for Ron, happy to find something solid in the world. Their lips touched again as their bodies pressed together, and neither one made any effort to move away. Hermione felt a part of herself slip away in this happiness; it spiraled down to earth far, far, below her. As Ron's hands ran down her back they lifted up her shirt a little, and her bare skin was exposed to his. She could feel his hands shaking at this, and she loved him for it.

As the sun sank completely beneath the water, the room was bathed in darkness, the only light a dancing shadow of the moon's silver path on the water. It made everything more dream-like, the shimmering darkness and the heat of the air between them as they kissed, a thousand miles above the world.

_Author's Note: Okay, this might need some explanation. I have some bizarre opinion that a huge white bed is the most romantic thing in the world. So, naturally, I had to give one to Ron and Hermione. I'm sorry if that's strange or weird, but it's what I've always pictured. Please, please comment; I'd love to hear reviews of the eagerly awaited arrival at Shell Cottage! I hope it lived up to your expectations!_

_Also, if anyone is interested, I put up a story called "A Million Pieces" if you'd like to check it out. I decided to step into Ron's shoes for this one : )_


	16. A Leap of Faith

_Author's Note: Thank you for all of the amazing reviews…I'm so happy my whole bed idea was not as abstract as I thought it was; I was scared I would get a lot of very bewildered reviews for that! I hope you like this chapter!_

Chapter Sixteen:

The soft morning air was rent in two as a loud, violent sound crashed into the serenity of dawn. Hermione started, waking up fully and looking around. For a moment, a heartbeat, she did not know where she was. She could hear the ocean behind her, see the sea foam green walls around her. And she was wrapped up in white, it consumer her, buried her. It felt as if she was in a room full of steam, everything around her was warm and white. And from all of that white she saw a flash of red.

She was curled up into Ron, her knees bent slightly. She was on her side, facing him, and he was on his side, facing her. He was still sleeping; the noise had not been able to reach him in his dreams. She watched as his chest rose and fell softly, his face completely relaxed. He had one arm draped over her waist and hers were on his chest. His other arm was under her head, she could feel the warmth of it.

The loud sound broke the air again, and this time, Ron woke up, sitting up straight in bed, looking around wildly. His face was cloudy with sleep, his eyes dark with dreams. He turned back to Hermione, who had not sat up and blinked sleepily at her.

"Wuzzgoinon?" he asked, his words slurring together as he emerged from sleep and looked at the door; the noise had come from outside of the room.

Hermione shook her head and sat up to, joining him in the middle of the sea of white. It felt as though they were sitting on waves, the whitecaps crashing around them. The noise sounded again and Ron winced at its loudness. Hermione pushed back the blankets, flexing her toes and stretching, trying not to blush under Ron's gaze. She pulled a bathrobe out of her bag and wrapped it around her body, the silky material giving her no warmth. Ron took her hand and they left the bedroom, creeping cautiously toward the source of the noise.

It sounded again, and Hermione jumped. Her blood was running fast now, making her lightheaded. Ron gripped her hand tighter, and she was glad of its pressure. It was coming from the front door; they ran down the stairs, Ron drawing his wand. They paused in front of the door; fear caught between them, so thick it could be felt. There was another bang, and then a familiar voice.

"Open up, you two. Are you going to make us stand around all day?" Ginny said, banging her fists on the door and the sound of it echoed around the house. Hermione felt her heart, which had been beating abnormally fast, slow down, and she glanced at Ron. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, then opened the door with a bang.

Hermione blinked into the radiant sunlight, which made her eyes stream and her head hurt. Dimly, she could see figures in front of her, one taller than the other, both carrying large bags. As she blinked, adjusting to the sudden brightness, Harry and Ginny came into view. Ginny muttered something, but it was lost in the sound of the waves.

"Sorry about that," Hermione said, ushering them into the house. Ron slammed the door behind them, making more noise then he needed to.

Ginny stood in the middle of the living room, turning on the spot, her eyes wide. Hermione hadn't realized that she had never been here; she gave Ginny a few minutes to soak everything in. After a few moments of turning on the spot, Ginny turned to Ron, her eyes bright with appreciation she rarely had for her older brother.

"Ron, it's amazing," she cried, much like Hermione had done the night before. Ron wore that same proud grin, as if he had built the place himself. Hermione looked down and noticed that he had not let go of her hand.

"Wait until you see the rest of it!" Hermione cried; the excitement Ginny was emitting seemed to leak into her skin, rekindling the fire of thrill that had ignited last night. Pulling Ron after her, she showed Ginny and Harry the rest of the house, her voice echoing lightly around the whitewashed walls. The house seemed to absorb happiness; there was an ethereal sort of glow the home itself seemed to emit.

When they had finished the tour, Harry's and Ginny's eyes were wide in amazement, and Ron's stomach was growling. Hermione led them into the kitchen, taking out food that Mrs. Weasley had packed for them. In minutes, the smell of bacon and eggs wafted through the house, the scent of it laying thickly over them, like a heavy blanket in the middle of the summer.

They ate breakfast in silence; the sound of the waves all around them seemed to do enough talking. Harry's arm was on the back of Ginny's chair, and Hermione saw Ron's eyes flicker to it more than once.

When they were done, they all sat back in their chairs, smiles of content fixed on each face. Hermione made to get up and clear the dishes, but Ron put up a hand to stop her, and started collecting them himself. She smiled at the sight of him at the sink, his sleeves rolled up his elbows, whistling cheerfully under his breath. Hermione did not realize that she was staring until Ginny cleared her throat loudly, and Hermione was startled out of her reverie. She shook her head a little, as if trying to rid it of water. The sea pounded on behind them, beating quickly like her heart.

"So, what is there to do here?" Ginny asked Hermione, as if she, Hermione, had been living here her whole life and was an expert about the place. Hermione shrugged helplessly.

"I don't know, actually. When we got here it was almost dark, so there really wasn't anything to do but tour the house and…" but she broke it off, not wanting to explain why they had jumped around on a bed their first night here. She wasn't even sure if there _was_ a true rationalization for it. Ginny raised her eyebrows, clearly imagining the worst, and Hermione blushed, but did not clarify anything.

The truth was that Shell Cottage was a lonely place. There were no houses around for miles, and the skyline was free of the blemishes of a city or town. The only companion was the sea, rushing up against the rocks. It felt as if the four of them were in a different place, separated from the rest of the world.

Harry went to the window, which looked out to the water beyond. He looked back at the three of them, the familiar fire of mischief flickering in his eyes. Hermione wondered what he was going to suggest.

"We could go swimming," he said, looking out at the water, as if to evaluate its depth. Ginny leapt up from the table and looked out the window too. From the sink, Ron turned off the water and looked at them, wondering what was going on.

"But we're on a cliff," Hermione said, trying to inject some reason into Harry's reckless plan. "I don't even think there's a beach, how are we going to get to the water?" she asked, with an air of not really wanting to know. She had been around Harry long enough to know that it was not a simple, painless plan.

"We jump," Harry said, grinning at her expression. She felt her mouth drop open and there was a clatter of china hitting metal as Ron dropped the dish he was cleaning. His mouth was open too, but – unlike Hermione's – it was slowly turning into a grin.

"Sounds cool," he said, turning the water back on and taking the dish he had dropped. Hermione looked from Harry to Ron and then back again. Was she the only one with a sense of reason?

"It does not! It sounds like suicide!" she cried, trying to appeal to Ginny, who seemed caught between what she wanted. She glanced at the water, and then moved closer to Harry; she had sided with him.

"Come on, Hermione. The water's deep, you won't hit your head or anything," Ginny said, in what she clearly thought was a winning argument. Hermione's jaw dropped even further. She hadn't even thought about getting hurt. Hurdling through the air with nothing to support her for tens of feet was what scared her most. There was no control, there was nothing she could do to stop herself from falling through the air, falling, falling….She shuttered, even the thought of it made her nauseous.

Harry walked away from the window and toward Hermione; he raised his eyebrows at her. "Are you scared, Hermione?" he asked. To her, the question sounded like a dare, a challenge. The part of her – the part that had put her into Gryffindor and not Ravenclaw – flared up and she stood up taller. She was not going to look like the coward, she would not shy away.

"_No_," she said defiantly, and Harry laughed, knowing her reaction all along. Ron, who had just finished cleaning the dishes, dried his hands on a towel and stood back, surveying the three of them.

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's get ready," Ron said, excitement imprinted in every word. Hermione could not help but smile at it as he grabbed her hand as she trailed behind him up the stairs.

They paused on the landing of the second floor, staring at the two bedrooms in front of them. Ginny looked back at her older brother and gave him a challenging look, as if daring him to contradict what she was about to do. Hermione felt herself draw in her breath as she watched the scene unfold. Ron was holding her hand so tightly, her fingers were turning purple from lack of blood, but she didn't dare to tell him.

Ginny pushed open the second door, the one closest to the master bedroom, and walked in. "Come on Harry, this one has such a nice view," she cried over her shoulder, feigning oblivion to the awkward scene she had just left behind.

Harry hesitated in the doorway, torn between Ginny and Ron, whose mouth had dropped open in anger at his younger sister. Harry turned to face Ron and Hermione, and Hermione acted on impulse, without really thinking about what she was going to do. She nudged Harry in the back a little, toward the door of the bedroom. At her touch, he smiled and seemed to make up his mind, walking into the room and shutting the door behind him. There was a tiny click as the door was locked. Laughter issued out of the door as Ron and Hermione stood in front of it.

Ron seemed incapable of movement; he was staring at the wood door that now housed his best friend and his younger sister. His mouth was still dropped open in anger and his eyes were wide. The rest of his face was strangely blank, and it made Hermione anxious; she would have preferred yelling and outright anger to this cold, silent fury.

Taking his hand, she pulled him into the bedroom; she thought it would be prudent to remove Ron from the door before his brotherly emotions went into overdrive and he kicked the door down and punched Harry. Once he was safely in the bedroom, she closed the door quietly behind them.

She perched on the bed as Ron paced back and forth; she wanted to give him a little time to let off steam before she told him what she thought.

"Why did you do that?" Ron asked, pausing in his pacing to look at Hermione. She felt herself quell under his question, though she held her gaze, refusing to let him get to her.

"Because, Ron, you need to understand that Harry and Ginny are together, no matter how strange that is for you and no matter how uncomfortable that is. They're together now and it's going to take a lot more than you ordering them to different bedrooms to keep them apart," she said, her voice strong.

Ron, who had stayed still during her little speech, began pacing again, muttering darkly to himself under his breath. A shout of laughter that sounded like Ginny's echoed through the little house, and Ron froze, his face contorted in rage.

Hermione knew what Ron was going to do a second before he did it, so she was ready to act before he was. Jumping off of the bed, she ran to the door, putting herself between it and Ron. He looked down at her, his eyes dark with anger, his hand on the door that he could not open.

"Come on, move over. Let me…" Ron growled.

"Let you what?" she asked, and those three words made all the difference. Ron didn't have a plan, and by saying this, she had stopped him from doing whatever came first to his head. She watched as he slowly moved away from the bed and sat down on a little chair in the corner of the room. When she thought it was safe, she backed away from the door and sat down in a chair opposite him.

"It's just…hard. She's my _sister_ and he's my _best friend_. You can't understand how strange that is. I'm trying – I know it doesn't look like it – but I am. I'm trying to get used to it," Ron said, his voice gravelly.

Hermione nodded. "I know, but what do you think it's like for Harry?" she asked, and Ron looked up at her, his head tilted slightly to one side, questioning her. "We're his best friends, don't you think that's strange for him?" she clarified, and Ron's eyes grew wide.

"Wow, I've never even thought of that," he said, his eyebrows drawn in thought. "You're right, it must have been awful for him," Ron said, more to himself than to Hermione.

"Yes, and look what he's done for us. They let us spend the night here _alone_. Would you do that for Ginny?" Hermione asked, partially to remind Ron that she was still here.

"No, I wouldn't," Ron admitted uncomfortably.

"So just go a little easier on the two of them. I'm sure they expect you to be a little…protective. So…just…I don't know, don't stare as much," Hermione said, shrugging. Ron looked up, grinning.

"Okay, okay, I'll try, is that better?" he asked, standing up and holding out a hand to her. She took it and stood up too, smiling.

"Much better," she said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

***

Twenty minutes later saw the four of them standing on the cliff in front of the ocean. It was a warm day, the glaring spotlight of the sun diffused a little by the light wind brought in by the sea. Hermione would have enjoyed it more if her nerves weren't on end for what they were about to do.

The water looked ridiculously far away; when standing on the cliff, ten feet seemed much further than it actually was. Hermione shivered, trying to stop her teeth from chattering in fear. Ron was standing next to her, eyeing the water as well. He leaned forward, and Hermione groaned, pulling him back. He gave her a questioning look.

"Don't do that," she moaned, failing at trying to sound brave. He bit his lip, clearly trying to stop himself from smiling.

Ginny was leaning over the cliff as well, her face radiating with excitement that was mirrored on Harry's face as well.

"Shall we all jump?" Ginny asked, taking off the towel that was wrapped around her. Ron turned his head away to stop himself from seeing Harry, who was now staring at Ginny. Hermione held in a laugh, which dissipated some of the fear churning in her blood.

"You two go first," Ron said; with his head turned, he was now staring at Hermione. She knew he could see how white her face was and how wide her eyes were. She silently thanked him for understanding, and for saying what she could not bring herself to say.

Ginny laughed, "Alright then, see you at the bottom!" she cried. Taking Harry's hand, they jumped, falling off of the cliff and through the air. Ginny's hair, a flash of red, flew behind her like a flame. Ginny screamed as Harry laughed, the sound of it filling the air, bouncing off the clouds high above.

With a crash, the two landed in the water and out of sight. In the blue-green water there were two rings where they had fallen. Hermione gasped, looking over the edge, her hand firmly gripping Ron's.

"Are they alright? Do you see them? Is the water too shallow?" she whispered at top speed, her blood pounding in her ears.

Ginny and Harry emerged, gasping for breath, their laughter echoing off of the rocks. Ginny shook hair out of her face as Harry pushed back his sopping hair. They seemed like tiny dots to Hermione, whose sense of distance seemed to have been warped by fear. She could hear them laughing though, and she instantly felt embarrassed, guilty that her fear was preventing her from doing what they could.

"Come on you two, jump!" Ginny called to them, and she broke out in giggles as Harry charged toward her. Ron made a noise in his throat, but didn't say anything.

Hermione looked at Ron, who was barely an inch from the edge of the cliff. She held his hand tighter and took a step forward. Her toes were hanging off of the edge, into nothingness. It felt as though a heavy brick had rested itself in her chest; breathing was harder, air didn't come as easily.

"You don't have to do it if you don't want to," Ron said gently, squeezing her hand. The brick in her chest lessened slightly at his offer, at the kind gesture.

Hermione shook her head adamantly. "No, I have to do it," she said. She didn't know why, but this meant something to her. She needed to do it, to let go of everything. She needed to feel herself falling through the air; she needed to feel what it was like to not have that control.

"Alright then, whenever you're ready," Ron said, and his voice told her that he would have waited all night for her.

Slowly, she unwrapped he towel from around her waist and threw it aside; Ron did not pretend not to stare. With his eyes on her, she stepped back up to the top of the cliff, dangling her toes over the water again.

Ginny and Harry were staring up expectantly at the two of them, squinting into the sunlight. The water around them glittered, as if there were precious stones underneath its surface. The water winked up at her, like a friend, welcoming, warm.

"I'm ready," she said, gripping his hand even tighter. He looked down at it, smiling, and gripped it back, returning the pressure. There was something amazing about the tiny gesture of holding hands; it seemed to give them both immeasurable strength.

"On three?" he asked, and she nodded; she did not think the words buried deep in her throat would ever make it out. She wondered what she was really counting down to. What would come when they had reached the end.

"One," Ron cried, and Hermione felt all of the air in her lungs leave in a short burst of air, taking all of the words with it. She wished she could take everything back, she wished she could run away and never come this close to the edge again. But it was too late; she could not get away now.

"Two," she said, and it surprised her. She did not think that she would be able to talk again. Ron seemed surprised as well; he glanced over at her, his smile wide. His blue eyes, a mirror of the sky behind him, seemed impossibly deep as they bore into her. At that moment, her mind was completely made up; and doubts she had dissapeared, she could not possibly dissapoint him when he looked at her with such affection.

"Three!" they both cried, and they plummeted toward the water, toward the sparkling waves. Hermione felt her feet leave the sharp rocks as she let go of all that was solid. Ron jumped a split second before she did, and she felt him take her with him into the vastness of the void.

Hermione screamed; she did not even try to keep it in. There was something thrilling about the fall; there was nothing under her but air, nothing under her but the sky, the wind, and possibilities.

From her left, Ron was shouting in glee, his hand holding hers so tightly, they could have Dissaparated. She looked over at him, her hair whipping around her face. He was laughing, his mouth wide open in joy. He glanced over at her to see if she was alright, and their eyes met. Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat again.

Time itself seemed to slow down as they fell. Hermione realized that it wasn't so scary after all. Sure, there was nothing she could do, nothing she could say to alter what was going to happen next. This complete freedom, this ultimate act of vulnerability had scared her most; not the height or the water below. It was the fact that she could not change what was happening that had scared her. And with the hand in hers, grounding her to life, she was not afraid.

She forced herself to open her eyes, and the wind whipped at them, making them water. She saw the cliff falling fast around her, and the sight of it made her slightly claustrophobic. Instead, she tilted her head up, and looked at the sky. It seemed an impossible shade of blue, so clear, so pure. It made her want to cry, though she did not think her emotions were intact enough to produce such a simple act.

Her other sensed seemed to fail as well, for her hearing had turned selective; she could distinguish only certain things. She could not hear Ginny calling to them or Harry laughing. She could not hear the waves crashing under them or the wind that wrapped around their bodies like a light blanket. All she could hear was Ron's shouted laughter and her own blood-curdling screams.

After what had seemed like days, they plunged into the ocean, and the world of air turned into the world of water. Hermione did not let go of Ron's hand; it seemed as though they were too tightly woven to possibly let go of each other. She closed her eyes as they fell into the water, allowing the cool waves to wash over her. And she was right; they greeted her like an old friend.

When she had no more breath in her lungs she kicked her legs and propelled her body to the surface past the glittering water to the clear blue sky.

With a gasp, she surfaced, taking huge breaths of air, choking and pushing her hair out of her face. She blinked several times as her eyes got used to where she was and what was surrounding her. It seemed as though she had passed through several universes to get to this one.

Ginny and Harry were swimming towards them, and Ron was still at her side. Distantly, she could hear their voices, lifted with happiness and pride. She could feel Ron's arm around her shoulders as they treaded water and Harry clap her on the back in congratulations.

She experienced all of this as if through a veil; there was an intoxicating thought going through her brain. She had believed, when she had stood on that cliff, that jumping off would simply be a test of her courage, of her daring. She thought that by jumping she would somehow prove herself to the others, or even prove something to herself. But it had meant so much more. When she had fallen, when she had made herself vulnerable, when she had given herself up to the sky, she had not been alone. And she had found her strength; she had found her ability to face the nothingness with the person beside her. Because when she had had no control, when she had been falling, falling through the air, Ron had been right there beside her.

_Author's Note: I hope that was an alright chapter. It started out as being pure fluff but I changed my mind in the end and tried to give it a little meaning. Again, reviews would be amazing!_


	17. Another Step

_Author's Note: Thank you for all of the reviews. I know there were a few questions, so I'll answer them at the end of this chapter. Happy reading!_

Chapter Seventeen:

They spent what seemed like hours splashing around in the water. It still amazed Hermione that they could actually do that; just sit around in the water with the sun beating down on their bare shoulders. It still surprised her that time wasn't so important anymore; they could afford to waste some of it.

As the sun slowly began to sink back into the water, they decided to call it a day; their fingers were wrinkled from the prolonged exposure to water, and Ron's neck was very red. And then, as sudden as the waves crashing down around them, they came to a sudden realization.

"We can't get back up," Ginny cried, a note of hysteria catching in her voice. Harry's eyes widened at this; his idea, as brilliant and daring as it was, was not as well-planned out as he had thought. Ron's eyes followed the length of the cliff, which, from this angle, seemed to puncture the sky. He swore loudly, and glared at Harry, as if this were all his fault. Hermione felt her heart speed up, beating uncomfortably against her rib cage.

"We can't stay here all night," Hermione said, her voice a little higher than it was normally. The fear of it seemed to bounce off of the rocks around them. All of the joy and confidence she had gained from jumping seemed to dissipate at this sudden discovery of the flaw in their plan.

"We could climb back up," Ron suggested halfheartedly. He swam over to the rocks, and tried to hoist himself up. A wave crashed over him and he fell back down. Even if they weren't caught by the waves, the rocks were too slippery.

"This was such a stupid, stupid idea," Ginny said, rounding on Harry who looked very guilty right now. "Jump off a cliff? Great idea, it's fine, perfect! Getting back up? Oh, I guess you didn't think about that before," Ginny shouted, her anxiety getting the best of her. Hermione swam over and put herself between the two of them before Ginny could do any real damage.

"Ginny, stop, it's not Harry's fault. None of us thought about getting back up, so you really can't….Ron, stop," she said quickly, interrupting herself for Ron had been trying to climb up the slippery ricks again. He crashed into the waves for a second time, and emerged coughing up water and looking very disappointed. He swam up to them and Hermione was glad; it had made her nervous to see him climb the wet rocks.

"Does anyone have any ideas?" Harry asked quietly from behind Hermione's arm. She lowered it and gave him a sympathetic look; he sounded so small and ashamed.

"I'm sure we'll think of something," she said kindly, wondering to herself why she wasn't taking the situation with as much fear as Ginny was. If she could jump off that cliff, then she was sure she would be able to get back up.

"I know!" Ron cried, and Hermione started a little at the sound of his voice echoing off the water and rocks. "We Apparate out!" he said, smiling broadly, clearly very impressed with his solution to their problem.

Hermione's heart lifted at once, and then slowly rocketed downward. "Ron, you need a wand to Apparate, and I don't think that anyone would carry a wand while swimming," she said, the heavy feeling in her chest growing larger.

"I have mine," Harry piped up. Hermione and Ron turned to him, their faces incredulous. Ginny was looking in the opposite direction, refusing to look at him.

"You brought your _wand_ when we went swimming?" Ron asked, his voice full of disbelief. "How paranoid do you have to be to bring a wand when swimming?"

"If you've forgotten we just got back from a journey where I nearly died half a dozen times, so I reckon you can't be too careful," Harry retorted, and Ron sobered up immediately. "If you have such a problem with it maybe I won't take you," he added, and Ron's ears burned red. He muttered incoherently for a few minutes before growing silent, his eyes fixed on the water.

"Do you think it'll work," Hermione asked in a hushed voice. Harry shrugged, bending down in the water and taking out his wand from the pocket in his swimming shorts.

"Thank God my pocket had a zipper, or we would have been here all night," Harry joked, trying to lighten the mood. Hermione gave him a feeble smile, but both Ginny and Ron seemed to not have registered it; Ron was still looking guilty, and Ginny was too busy being angry.

The stood huddled together, the waves lapping at their shoulders. "Should we all go together?" Hermione asked, finding Ron's hand under the water and holding on to it tightly.

Harry shook his head. "I'm not even supposed to be Apparating. I think it would be best to go two at a time. Hermione, do you want to go first?" Hermione was slightly taken aback, but nodded. The cliff towering over her was slightly intimidating and was starting to make her feel claustrophobic.

Reluctantly, Ron let go of her hand and she waded over to Harry, whose hand was extended above the water. She took it gratefully, and together they spun on the spot. Hermione had never Disapparated in water, and she did not think she would ever try it again. With the water up to her neck, spinning into the air was much harder. For a split second, she did not think it would work. But then, she felt the familiar sensation of being squeezed into a vacuum. This time, surrounded by water, the pressure seemed denser, and for a moment she was scared she would suffocate.

She was glad when her feet hit the rocks of the top of the cliff. She knelt on all fours, taking gasps of air as her eyes streamed. It had been one of the most uncomfortable feelings, unlike anything she had ever felt before. Harry was somewhere to her left. He was still standing, but he looked very shaken, his skin standing out an unnatural white against his black hair and the darkening sky.

She found her towel and wrapped it around herself, as if it could do more than just dry her. Harry took several steadying breaths before looking over the edge of the cliff.

"Are y-you going to j-jump?" Hermione asked, her teeth chattering as the wind whipped around her, catching in her hair and chilling her bones.

"Yeah, I'm not going to Apparate more than I have to, it feels awful," Harry said, his voice traveling to her in the wind. She blinked and he was gone; she strained her ears to hear him fall, and a second later, she heard a splash as he crashed into the water.

Seconds later, Ginny materialized with Harry. Ginny was still standing, though she was bent double in what was clearly pain. Her face was a sickly grey color, and her eyes, like Hermione, were watering.

"First Floo Powder, now this," she gasped, taking her towel and copying Hermione, wrapping it around her body. "I think I'll stick to walking after all of this, you three have a terrible track record when it comes to magical transportation," she winced, sitting down next to Hermione.

Harry, however, did not seem to have taken the second Apparition well. He was sitting on the ground, his head in between his bent knees, rocking back and forth. Ginny glanced over at him, her expression hard. After a few seconds, she softened; clearly forgetting her anger. She walked over to Harry, putting her arm around his shoulders.

"Hey! Are you guys going to leave me here! I'm sorry what I said earlier, alright? Just – just come back the tide's coming in," Ron shouted, his panicked voice reaching them from the top of the cave.

Harry groaned, his face a horrible green color. Hermione winced at the look of it; she knew he would not be able to Apparate, which left her to do it again. Harry tried to get up off of the ground, leaning on Ginny for support. But Hermione beat him to it, and she put a hand up to stop it.

"Stop, there's no way you can do it," she told him, and she returned the weak smile he gave her. He handed her his wand, and she took it in her hands, trying to ignore the slightly foreign feeling it gave her. Ginny was at Harry's elbow, and gently she took him back to the cottage.

"I'm coming," she called over the edge of the cliff, and she threw her towel aside, readying herself once more for the jump.

This time, it was easier to take the jump; she knew exactly how she would feel and exactly what it would feel like. Falling, however, was slightly scarier this time, for Ron's hand was not in hers. As she flew through the air, she forced herself to think that she would be falling to him, and this thought was what calmed her as the wind enveloped her body and she fell.

She emerged from the water, which seemed cooler this time now that she knew what it felt like to be warm and wrapped up in a towel. Ron was bobbing anxiously in the water, the waves crashing around him. He reached out a hand to her and she took it, trying not to think of the discomfort she would be leading him to.

Her hand firmly on Harry's wand, she thought of the living room in Shell Cottage with all of her might. Squeezing Ron's hand, she turned in the air, taking him with her.

When it was all over, they were lying on the floor of the living room. Hermione gasped her air; her lungs seemed to have collapsed with the second bout of Apparition. There were stars somewhere above her eyes and she reached an arm to try and grab one as the corners of her vision grew darker. She took deep breaths, forcing herself to remain conscious. From her side, Ron was issuing a steady stream of swears as he too felt the consequences of Apparating in water.

"Are – you – okay?" he asked her, as she tried to put herself into a seated position. It seemed to take all of the strength she had, and as she leaned against the chair behind her, she felt incredibly weak. The stars were beginning to fade; the darkness in the corners of her eyes was dimmed slightly. She tried to nod but didn't seem to be able to do it. Ron, who recovered quicker, having only Apparated once, sat up and put an arm around her shoulders. The stability of it comforted her a little; and she found that breathing became a little easier.

"There's tea if you want some," Ginny called from the kitchen. Ron got up first and held out a hand to Hermione, so that she could stand up too. She remembered back at her parents' house and being humiliated by this, but she shouldered her pride. She needed Ron at this moment, and she refused to feel guilty about it.

The sat down at the kitchen table, Hermione still leaning on Ron for support. Harry looked marginally better; his face had regained its color and he did not look dazed. Hermione took a mug of tea from Ginny with a grateful smile, nearly burning her lips on the hot amber liquid. With something warm inside of her she felt better, and she gradually let go of Ron's hand.

They spent the rest of the late afternoon lounging around; the unsaid agreement that they had had their share of adventure for the day. Hermione and Ginny made dinner from the food Mrs. Weasley had given them, and they spent the rest of the night sitting around the kitchen table, talking and laughing.

Hermione noticed that her conversation with Ron had done some good; he did not stare at Harry and Ginny's intertwined hands once, and when Harry bent over and kissed Ginny's cheek, he did not say anything. She smiled at this, and thought – for the first time – that the four of them living together might just work, even though the house was small.

At around ten, they decided to call it a night and head up to bed. Hermione's head felt heavy with all that had happened today, it seemed much later than it really was. Ginny and Harry bade them goodnight and disappeared into their bedroom. Ron took no notice; he just smiled back and looked the other way.

Hermione shut the double doors to their bedroom and Ron collapsed on the bed, nearly disappearing in the blankets. "That was the hardest thing I've ever done," he said dramatically.

Hermione laughed, "I know, I'm never jumping off a cliff again," she said, lying down on the bed next to him.

Ron sat up, looking down at her. "No, not _that_. I meant acting all normal as Harry put his hands all over my sister," he said.

Hermione tried not to roll her eyes. "Well, you did it very convincingly, and he was not running his hands all over –" she said, but Ron cut her off.

"I don't want to talk about it. But I did it, didn't I? I didn't say anything, and I didn't stare," he said, the pride imprinted in his voice. Hermione turned on her side to look at him, tenderness melting her heart.

"You were perfect," she said, smiling a little. The reflection of the moon in the water danced across their faces, giving them a dream-like glow.

Ron inched his head a little closer to hers, and their lips met in the darkness. Something like passion caught between them as they kissed, perhaps it was because this was the first time that they were both horizontal. The air itself seemed to grow warmer as they groped at each other, their breath coming shallower, their pulse beating quicker.

Again, they seemed to move without realizing it; this time they were sitting in the middle of the bed, leaning back on their knees, facing each other. The moonlight was caught in Ron's hair, which stood on end from where Hermione's fingers had run through it. Hermione wished she could capture that image in her heart and keep it forever.

The kissed again, their knees sunken into the deep blankets, the air around them dancing. Ron's hands, which were on her back, moved lower and lower, until they skimmed the end of her shirt. She felt her breath catch; this time they did not move their way back up to her hair. They stayed there, playing with the hem of her tank-top. Hermione could not breathe; it was as if she had forgotten how.

She broke off, her face still very close to Ron's. His eyes were deep, penetrating, the light blue of them dancing through her heart, searing her soul. She looked at him, trying to tell him with her eyes what she was scared she would not be able to say aloud.

"Is this…is this okay?" Ron asked, his voice cracking. Everything in it told Hermione that he would have stopped; he would have stopped in an instant if she had asked. Hermione blinked, and the image of his face was burnished on the back of her eyelids. She could see his hope, his love, everything in his eyes.

Hermione glanced out at the water beyond them. The waves looked black in the darkness, but they still glittered in the light of the silver moon. She was reminded of Australia, and the time where she had forgotten herself and acted on pure emotion.

She looked back at him and nodded. Her voice seemed to have gotten lost in the feeling of his hands on her lower back. He smiled, and leaned in again, his lips softly parting hers. She kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck and running her hands through his hair. She could feel his hands as they slowly moved up under her tank top. His hands were shaking, with fear or excitement, Hermione did not know. She wanted to reassure him somehow, but she did not know what she could possibly say.

They kissed for what seemed like forever, their knees slowly sinking deeper and deeper into the endless bed. The feel of Ron's hands on her bare skin seemed to send electric currents in her, and she felt the familiar wave of recklessness course under her skin. They kissed harder and faster, as if they did not have enough time in the world, yet with a passion that clearly said they could wait forever.

In this confusing mix of emotions, they broke apart. Ron's hair looked as though he had fought through a thick forest to get here, and Hermione knew she did not look any better. Her shirt was twisted from Ron, and she quickly fixed it. Their chests rose and fell quickly, much faster than the beat of the waves behind them. The sea was languid, calm, while in the bedroom there was only fervor, which could not move slowly.

"That…that..." Ron whispered in a very gravelly voice, his ability of speech lost in what had just happened, what had changed between them.

Hermione did not want to ruin anything by talking. Instead she leaned closer to him, putting her hands on his chest, her hair falling around her as she kissed him again. Their breath – which still had not reaching normal – mixed in a fast tempo, racing like wind. Hermione gripped at Ron's shirt as his hands wove themselves through her hair. She wished they were on her back again; the feel of them had made her feel dizzy with happiness.

They broke apart again, more out of breath than before. Hermione's heart was pounding in her ears, blocking everything out. Ron was looking at her again, his eyes deep with a type of longing and love she had never seen. And they gave her the drive to do what she did next. Taking the edge of her shirt in shaking hands, she pulled it over her head and threw it aside. Ron's eyes grew wide at the sight of her bare torso, her skin pale in the moonlight. She felt his eyes trace over her neck to her bra to her flat stomach. Her heart stopped, she had never felt so vulnerable in her entire life.

"Hermione," Ron whispered, though it sounded quite like a mangled groan, like she was torturing him with this. Her heart fell out of her chest and she immediately wished she could take everything back.

And then, Ron grabbed the neck of his shirt and pulled it over his head so that he too was bare in front of her. Hermione did not pretend not to stare; she did not pretend to not look at the taunt muscles in his chest, or at his shoulders, which looked so strong.

They stayed there, kneeling in the center of the bed, half-naked for what seemed like the entire night. They stared, soaking up the image of the other in the moonlight. It was dreamlike, surreal, something that could be taken away in the blink of an eye. The moon went behind a cloud and the room dimmed a little. Ron's eyes were full as he inched closer to her. Their bare skin touched, and Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine.

"I love you," he whispered, and he took her in his arms, his lips parting hers softly. Hermione's heart inflated again, filling her chest. She was scared it would overflow, and some of it would seep out. Surely one person wasn't allowed to feel this happy.

This time when they moved, Hermione knew exactly where they were going to end up. They landed in the clouds, the passion caught in their lips, the love caught between their skin.

***

Morning seemed to come too soon. It filled the bedroom with its golden glow, chasing away all of the darkness of night. Hermione blinked sleepily, wishing the sun would wait just a few hours more, wishing she could somehow postpone this perfection.

They were lying on the bed, facing each other. Ron's arms were wrapped around her so tightly, she did not think she could have moved an inch if she could try. Her neck was slightly cramped up; she had tilted it upward slightly so that she could see Ron's face, and she wondered if it was the last thing she had seen before she had fallen asleep. Her hands were on his chest, and she could feel his heart beating under them. He was still fast asleep, his face completely smooth, his mouth slightly turned up in the corner. Hermione wondered what he was dreaming about.

A moment later, she felt her face grow hot as she realized just how much of her bare skin was touching Ron's. Last night came back to her all at once, like a dream she was just starting to remember. With Ron holding her so close, there was not one part of their bare torsos that were not touching. Hermione felt her spine tingle at this realization.

Ron grunted a little in his sleep, furrowing his eyebrows. Hermione froze, though for what reason she did not know. Hermione blinked and when her eyes opened, he was awake, looking at her very sleepily.

"Good morning," he said, his voice gravelly from the combination of sleep and waking up with Hermione in his arms.

"Good morning," she said back, her voice carrying lightly on the summer air.

Ron let go of her slightly, and she immediately wished he hadn't. However, with more room in between them, Hermione felt Ron's eyes flicker down to her bra more than once. This gaze made her cheeks turn red, and she was almost thankful when a distraction came in the shape of something breaking a floor below. They leapt out of bed at the sound of it, both of them pulling shirts over their heads before heading out. At the doorway, Ron caught her wrist, and she paused, her hand on the doorknob. She turned to him, raising her eyebrows.

"I…" he started, but it seemed as though he was incapable of speech. Instead, he pulled her closer to him and kissed her softly on the lips. It was gentle and sweet, and Hermione felt her heart come to an immediate stop.

"There," he said after several seconds, "that's what I wanted to say," he said, a grin spreading across his face. Hermione smiled.

"I thought we had a rule! You can't do that early in the morning, it'll mess me around," she said, feigning annoyance.

Ron laughed, "Yeah, but we never made a rule for me. What do I do when _you_ mess _me_ around?" he asked, and he opened the doors of the bedroom for her.

They met Harry and Ginny in the kitchen. Ginny, who was woefully undomesticated, had attempted to made breakfast without Hermione. She had broken a bowl taking it out of a top cabinet, the result of which had been the noise that had forced Ron and Hermione out of bed.

"Thank God you're here," Ginny cried dramatically, "I wanted to make waffles but I didn't know what you were supposed to do with the eggs," she said, handing a bowl full of an oozing mixture to Hermione.

"You have to crack them, Ginny," Ron joked, letting go of Hermione's hand and sitting next to Harry at the kitchen table. Ginny gave her brother a mean look.

"Ha ha, that's funny," Ginny said dryly. "I actually knew that. I just didn't know if they came before or after the flour, and I was all confused so I was careless so I dropped the bowl and –"

But Hermione never knew what Ginny did after dropping the bowl. A loud rapping at the door startled her into silence. Hermione whirled around to face Ron and Harry, both of whom had looks of confusion on their faces. Her heart was pounding rather quickly and uncomfortably in her chest.

"Did you invite…" Ron started, and Hermione shook her head.

"No," she said, interpreting his question correctly. They turned to Harry, who shook his head as well.

Someone banged at the door again, and Hermione jumped. She took her wand out of her pocket, and saw out of the corner of her eye that Harry and Ron had drawn theirs too. Her blood pounded in her ears, and everything seemed to be clearer, razor sharp.

It was back again, just when she had thought that they had outrun it. Just when she had thought that they could live in peace forever, and hearing an unexpected knock at the door would not arouse fear. The fear of something they did not know was back, closer to the surface than she had thought. She had thought that in the last two months something had changed, they had finally let go of all of the feelings of fear and insecurity. But this, this knock, seemed to take everything back that they seemed to have gained.

"Who's there?" Ron asked loudly, his voice deeper and sounding challenging.

"It's me, Kingsley," said a familiar deep voice. Hermione felt her heart let up at once, and she lowered her wand a fraction of an inch. Harry, it seemed, wasn't so trusting.

"Prove it," Harry shouted, his voice just as deep and challenging as Ron's.

"My name is Kingsley Shacklebolt, I am a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and newly appointed Minister of Magic. About two years ago, I traveled to Little Whinging to take Harry to Headquarters after he was accused of using Underaged Magic. I was accompanied by Mad-Eye Moody, Tonks, Lupin…"

"That's him," Harry said, cutting across Kingsley. His eyes looked slightly distant, and Hermione knew that the last part of Kingsley's speech had affected Harry. She tried to give him a comforting look, but his eyes were focused on a spot a foot above her head. His jaw was clenched, his hand holding his wand was in a fist.

Ron left the room to open the door and let Kingsley in. Hermione could hear him welcoming their guest and the two of them laughed, walking into the kitchen. He shook hands with everyone, and Ron offered him a seat, nearly upturning one in the process. The fact that the Minister of Magic was in his home seemed to make Ron anxious, even though it was only Kingsley. Ron gave Kingsley his chair, so he leaned on the back of Hermione's.

"Well," Kingsley said in his deep, booming voice. "This is quite an unusual visit for me to make, it's not really in the job description, but I know you four, so it's a different condition," he said, sitting back in his chair and smiling at them.

"The three of you – and Ginny, I'm sure – have had quite a year," he started. It was not a question, but rather a statement. Hermione squirmed uncomfortably in her chair, not knowing how to respond to this.

"Because of the, erm, unusual circumstances, we have to look at your futures rather differently," Kingsley continued, seemingly oblivious to the discomfort around him.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, leaning forward a little in his chair.

"Well," Kingsley said, "You've all missed a considerable amount of school. Ginny didn't lose as much, but she was out for a sizable portion of the year," Kingsley said, and he seemed to be speaking only to Harry.

No one said anything; they were all waiting for Kingsley to speak. He looked around the kitchen, as if the white wood cabinets had the answers stowed away. When he looked back at them, he met four attentive faces. He sighed, and began to talk again.

"Well, this is mostly for Harry, Ron, and Hermione, I'm sorry Ginny. Because of the – skills you showed this past year, the Ministry has decided to make an exception for you three. You are, of course, welcome to go back to school if you'd like, but I think the Ministry is willing to offer you positions without a complete education," Kingsley said.

"What?" Ron asked loudly, as if he could no believe what he was hearing, "You mean we can get a job without getting our N.E.?"

Kingsley nodded. "Harry and Ron, you have been offered positions as Aurors, though of course there will be training. Hermione, you have been offered a position in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, where you can work on Elf Rights, a cause I hear you feel very strongly about," Kingsley said.

Hermione felt herself nodding vaguely, though she was beginning to detach from the others. Here it was: another step into the future. And yet, Hermione wasn't sure if she wanted to take it yet. They had just gotten back from running around for a year, she was not sure if she wanted to jump into something else. And school. She was sure that she would have always wanted to finish. But in a heartbeat, in the quick inhale of breath, she remembered the feeling of being in the castle, of the walls crashing down on her. Could she walk through the school again, her feet marking the place where so many had died?

For what seemed like the first time in her life, Hermione did not have a clear plan for what was going to happen next. She did not know what she wanted; she did not know which path to take. She felt, all of the sudden, very small and insignificant, as if she were slowly shrinking. Things seemed so much bigger now, the walls of the kitchen rose high above her and she felt as if she was looking up from the bottom of a well. The air she was breathing might have just turned to water; she gasped for air, feeling lightheaded.

She did not know when she had done it, but she found herself standing up, her hands on the kitchen table for support. She might have muttered something about getting some air, though she could not remember. Sound was coming to her strangely, as if she were deep in a tunnel or a cave.

She walked shakily to the back door, opening it and walking outside. The fresh air seemed heavenly; she took deep breaths of it, steadying herself. Slowly, the thoughts in her head stopped spinning, and she was able to grasp where she was and what she had just heard.

She walked toward the edge of the cliff and sat down cross-legged in the long grass. She stared out into the blue, blue sky and sighed. She had so much to think about.

_Author's Note: I hope you all liked the chapter. I've been getting a few questions and – if it's alright – I'll address them here. If I miss yours I'm so sorry, it's an oversight and I'll answer it soon._

_1. First, about this chapter: Actually, a bit of this chapter is addressing questions people had about chapter 16. One of them was how to get back up the cliff. I realized that I left them all jumping off a cliff with no way back up. So, after some thought, I decided to use Apparition. However, I didn't want this to seem _too_ convenient, so I made it an uncomfortable experience. I hope everyone was okay with that. Another request for the next chapter was to give Ron and Hermione a nudge in the direction of a more romantic relationship. I've been doing more psychological/emotional closeness, and people asked for some physical/romantic closeness. So, I added the scene in the bedroom. This brings me to the second point, actually._

_2. No, the scene in Shell Cottage was NOT a "sex scene". The romantic scene with Ron and Hermione in this chapter was not a "sex scene" either, just to clear it up. I'm sorry if there's been any confusion. When I right that bit (and it won't be for a little while) I'll try to make it clearer…has it been too ambiguous? _

_Also, in this chapter there was a scene where they both, um…revealed a part of themselves (sorry, this is so awkward to write!!). By the way, they both had their pants on, I wanted to write that but there is no way I could think of that said that eloquently. I was initially very worried that it would be too risqué, but I ended up adding it. If that part was offensive or not liked, please tell me and I won't write things like that anymore._

_3. Regarding Shell Cottage: yes, houses can be added onto magically and yes Shell Cottage has extra rooms for a baby. But since Shell Cottage is near a cliff and the ocean, I don't think it's the proper place to raise a baby, even if there's a spare bedroom. Therefore, even though they could have stayed or altered Shell Cottage, Bill and Fleur moved. As for Bill giving it to Ron, I just thought it would be a nice gesture._

_This is such a long note! Anyways, I think I'm done for now, I just wanted to address some of your questions and hopefully clarify a few things. Reviews for this chapter would be amazing, I took a new angle and I'd love to hear what people think! So, if you have time a quick review would mean so much!_


	18. Futures, Baking, and Babies

_Author's Note: Wow, that's all I can say. Thank you all for the amazing feedback, it was better than I could have ever imagined. I am so very humbled by all of your fantastic compliments : ) Happy reading!!_

_~*~_

Chapter Eighteen:

Hermione let the sky around her soak up all of her thoughts and feelings. So much had happened in the last five minutes, and slowly she felt all of those things catch up to her. She could go back to school. She could get a job working at the Ministry in a position she had been dreaming about for years. She could potentially take a path that would lead her further and further away from Ron and Harry. All of the different paths made her dizzy; there was so much to choose, so much to think about.

She closed her eyes, so that all she could see was the dark red of her eyelids. It was calming, it let her concentrate. _Okay_, she told herself, _focus, pretend this is an exam. There has to be a correct answer, right? Just think it through and you'll get the right one. It'll be easy._ But it wasn't easy. This was her life she had to think about. On an exam, if she got a wrong answer there was still a chance of getting a good grade. Here, in the real world, if she got a wrong answer it could lead to…

She didn't want to think about what it would lead to. Her eyes flew open as she realized the magnitude of everything. But she forced herself to shut them tightly again, forcing herself to concentrate. First, the thought of school. She knew that Harry and Ron would not go back; this, at least, came easily to her. She tried to imagine herself at school without them; walking down to the Great Hall alone, sitting in the common room alone, the hours in between classes spent alone. She could not picture school without the two of them; in a heartbeat she realized what a large part of her life the two of them were.

She would not be going back to school. Besides the fact that Harry and Ron would be there, there was the fact that she did not think she could step foot in the castle again. Her memory flashed back to the walk she had taken the morning she left for the Burrow. She could see the crimson walls and the crumbling stones. She could hear the echoes of the wounded crying out. She could see the place where Fred had fallen, where so many of her friends had once stood. Her breath became shallow even at the thought of it. Hogwarts had once been an invincible fortress, a magical place unlike the rest of the world. It was invincible, a lasting survivor. Now, that childish image was gone; all she could see were the smashed windows, the dark patches of grass where bodies had laid. No, she would not be returning to Hogwarts. The castle scared her now; there were too many ghosts roaming its halls.

With one option down, Hermione felt much better; she opened her eyes and looked out at the horizon. It was comforting, eliminating an answer. There were fewer paths now; the journey was not as difficult. She thought of Kingsley's other option; the position in the ministry. Her head told her to take it, to jump immediately at the offer. But her heart and her body told her something else. She was so tired; she had fought for so long. She wondered what would happen to her if she began a job, if she immediately started something new. She wanted the job – she had always wanted the opportunity to make a difference – but she wasn't sure if she wanted it now.

She hated the thought of not taking the position; she did not want to seem lazy. But she had been strained; she had worked for so long. She could not imagine, after everything in the last year, starting something where she was a complete beginner. What she really needed was a Time Turner. If she had one, she would turn the time back to three or four weeks earlier and sleep. She would just stay in bed and sleep all day, sleep until she was finally awake. Then, she would be back in the present, and she would be ready to function normally again.

She heard the back door swing open behind her, but she did not turn to see who had come to join her; she already knew. She stared out at the horizon as Ron sat next to her, his long legs sprawled out in the grass.

"Are you feeling better?" Ron asked her, looking at the same spot on the horizon as she was; Hermione wondered what he was seeing.

"Yes, I am. I just needed time to – to think," she said, turning her head to him and smiling. "I just needed some air, I'm sorry if I –"

"Don't apologize, I understand," Ron said quickly, and she knew that he really did. "Did you…did you decide on anything?" He asked this hesitantly, as if he was unsure if wanted to know, or if she would want to tell him.

Hermione sighed. "Mostly, but I'm not quite there yet. I know I'm not going back to school," she said, starting with the thing she was positive about. She hoped that by the time they reached her uncertainties, she would have worked things out a little more.

Ron looked slightly taken aback. "You're not? I was sure that out of all of us you would be the one who would want to," he said, his grin barely concealed.

Hermione smiled slightly, thought it was not an entirely happy one. "I thought so too. But I realized I can't go back, I can't face…face everything," she said quietly, and Ron's face immediately sobered. He nodded, and lowered his eyes to the grass in front of him.

"What are you going to do?" she asked after a few moments of silence, wanting more than anything to shift the topic of conversation away from herself.

Ron looked up and at the horizon again. "I…well, I'm not exactly sure," he said quietly. Then, he added, as if it were an afterthought, "George asked me if I wanted to help him reopen the shop."

Hermione felt her jaw drop slightly in surprise. "He did? When?" She had not known this; it was the first time she had heard a proposition anything like it.

"The night we left to come here, George took me aside and asked me. I think dad told him he should reopen it, because all he does is mope in his room or take walks around the house. He said he was going to finally do it, but he needed help. So, he asked me if it was something I would be interested in," Ron said, picking a piece of grass in front of him and shredding it between his fingers.

"What did you say?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"I said I had to think about it," Ron answered truthfully. "I…I wasn't sure if…if…"

"Ron, you should say yes," Hermione said, sounding more forceful than she had meant to. She backtracked; it hadn't come out the way she had wanted to. "You should feel…feel…honored. George didn't just ask anyone, he asked _you_. Don't you realize how special that is? He trusted you to help him with something only he and Fred did, and now he wants you to be a part of it!" she said, and Ron glowed with her praise.

"I didn't really think about it in that way," Ron admitted. "I was just scared that I wouldn't do as good of a job as Fred did. I didn't want George to be disappointed with me," Ron said, looking slightly guilty.

Hermione covered Ron's hand with her own. "Ron, George wouldn't have asked anyone he didn't trust, anyone he did not think would do what Fred would have done. And he chose you," Hermione said, and Ron swelled with pride.

"You think so?" he asked, and Hermione nodded fervently. "Well, I think I'll write to him and tell him I'll do it," Ron said, smiling broadly at her. After a few moments, it dimmed slightly. "What if I can't do it though? What if I can't replace Fred?" Ron asked.

The question was meant only for her, Hermione knew that. She knew that he had not confided this fear in anyone, not even Harry. She squeezed his hand, which was still under hers, and looked at him. "Ron, no one will ever replace Fred for George. But what you _can_ do is make George's life much better. Opening up that shop will be so good for him, I know it. And he asked you to do it with him. He needs you," she said, and Ron nodded, happy with her answer.

Ron continued to shred grass in his free hand. His expression told Hermione that he still had other concerns he wanted to voice. She waited patiently for him, knowing they would come to the surface eventually. Finally, they burst from his mouth as if he had been holding them in for quite a while. "Kingsley offered me a job as an Auror too," he said, his voice a little louder than normal.

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. "I know, Ron, I heard him. What's the matter?" she asked, thoroughly confused.

"Well," Ron said, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Helping with the shop wouldn't be a permanent thing; I would only be helping George for a little while. So, I thought I'd be an Auror after than, but now…" he said, trailing off, ripping another piece of grass from the lawn.

"Now what?" Hermione asked gently, picking up where he had left off.

"I don't know if I want to be an Auror," Ron admitted. Hermione was slightly taken aback. He had voiced an interest in being an Auror for as long as she had had an interest in Elf Rights.

"Why not?" she asked, still very confused.

"Because Harry will be an Auror," Ron said quietly. Hermione's jaw opened, and his face grew alarmed at her reaction. "No, no, it's not like that, it's…it's complicated," Ron sighed, as if he were hesitant to explain all of it to her. "It's just that…well I've been in his shadow for such a long time. If I become an Auror like Harry, I'll just be living in is shadow again. I'll always be there, slightly behind him, never quite good enough to catch up."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but it appeared that Ron wasn't done. "I've wanted to be an Auror for so long," he continued. "But I've taken the backseat my entire life, first with my brothers, now with my best friend. I just want to…I want to be good at something, you know? I want to do something where I can't be compared to anyone. Because whenever I'm measured up to anyone, I'm always, always second. I want to do something and not have people say, 'yeah, well someone else has already done that.' It's been this way my whole life; I've never been able to impress people. If I do something great, no one takes any notice because it's already been done before."

Like the job in the shop, Hermione knew that this was something he had confided to her alone, and she knew it was very important that she answered it correctly. "Ron, please listen to me. No matter what you do or what you chose to become, you will always be you. There will _always_ be people above you, people with more accomplishments. But they aren't really important, are they? What's important is what you've done, what you've accomplished and what you've chosen that makes you happy," she said firmly, as if she could will these thoughts into Ron's mind.

Ron did not look convinced. "Yeah, but I'll still be the second one, I still won't be the one with the highest position or the most accomplishments," Ron said, failing to miss the point.

"And how many joke shops did Harry reopen? How many lockets did Harry destroy? How many chess games did Harry win? As for your brothers, how many times did they camp out for a year with their lives dangling in front of them?" Hermione asked, reeling off the first things that came to her mind that Ron did. "Ron, you're different than Harry, and you're different than your brothers. Don't let the fear of not measuring up to them keep you from doing what you want. I think you should help George with the joke shop, and then become an Auror, because it's what you want," she said.

Ron looked at her, a slow smile spreading on his face, "You know what?" he asked, putting his arm around her shoulders.

"What she asked, smiling at the feeling of warmth it gave her.

"I think you might be the most amazing person I've ever met," he said, and he leaned down and kissed her on the lips. In his kiss, she could feel the soft thank you pass from his lips to her, where it caught in her heart and made her head spin.

When they broke apart, Hermione did not take her eyes off of Ron. "For the record, I never compared you to Harry or to your brothers. And I think your good at a lot of things," she said truthfully. Ron laughed and kissed her again.

The back door banged open and Harry walked out. Seeing his two best friends kissing, he turned in the opposite direction until they were through. Then, he walked over to them and sat down as well.

"Ginny's seeing Kingsley out. She invited him to dinner, but he said no. I think it's because he saw her attempted pancakes," Harry joked, mirroring Ron and stretching his legs out. He put his hands on the grass behind his back and reclined, looking at the water.

Hermione laughed, "They weren't _that_ bad, you know. She must have just missed an ingredient," she said, coming to Ginny's aid.

"Or twenty," Ron countered, grinning.

They fell silent, and Hermione was left to wonder what she was going to do. With Ron's plan laid out in front of them, she felt more lost than ever. His qualms had been so easy to fix, he had worked everything out. She wished her confusions had been as easy to address.

"Did you decide what you're doing?" she asked Harry after the silence stretched on between the three of them, the waves almost sounding like a clock, ticking down minutes.

"Yeah, I did. Kingsley said that they have Auror training program, like most of the Ministry, has training starting every four months. The next one is in three weeks," he said, his eyes staring at a point the other two could not see.

Ron let out a low whistle, "So you're starting in three weeks then?" he asked.

To Hermione's surprise, Harry shook his head. "No, actually I'm not. I'm going to wait for the next one, which begins in the end of December, right after the holidays. I figured that with everything we've been through, we deserve a bit of a break. I couldn't even think of starting something new after just finishing something so huge."

Hermione felt herself release all of the air in her chest in one quick gasp. Harry had just voiced every thought that had been whirling around her brain. She felt exactly the same way he did.

"Did Kingsley say that the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures has a similar process?" she asked, her question coming out in a rush of anxiety and excitement.

Harry squinted, trying to remember. "He said you could either start in three weeks, which is when the next one starts, or at the end of November, which would be three months after that, so yes, the process is the same, it's just a shorter span of time."

Hermione turned to Ron, her eyes wide. Here it was: the answer to everything. "Ron, I know what I'm doing! I'll start a little later, like Harry! I had the same problem, I wanted the job but I didn't want to start something right away. And now I don't have to!" she cried, so happy that she flung herself into Ron's arms, forgetting that Harry was only a few feet away.

Ron laughed over the top of her head and hugged her back, his hands holding her tightly. Hermione felt a heavy weight lift from her chest. She had the right answer; she had found what she wanted to do.

When Hermione let go of Ron, she sat back down, her cheeks slightly pink at her outburst of emotion. The three of them resumed silence, and Hermione was sure that they were all thinking about what they had just decided, and the magnitude of it all. And as they sat in silence, the three of them looked out into the distant horizon, as if written in the line where the waves hit the sky was the story of the future they had just started to write.

***

The rest of July passed by in a steady rhythm, its slow assuring beat echoing the sea. Each day was alike in so many ways, yet different in countless others. The schedule they had set up seemed to be a backdrop for their life; they maintained it without thinking, the perfect carelessness coming so easy in the sticky summer heat.

They would wake up and have a relaxed breakfast, just the four of them. Then, Ron would leave for Diagon Alley, where he was helping George with the shop. It was up and running again, and – according to Ron – business was better than ever.

Ginny, it turned out, had been recruited to play Quidditch for the Holyhead Harpies; she, like Harry, Ron, and Hermione did not have a desire to finish her incomplete education. This decision had resulted in a horrible screaming match between Ginny and Mrs. Weasley, but Ginny had won in the end. She would leave in the morning a few hours after Ron and came home right before dinner.

This left Harry and Hermione to their own devices. Every other day Hermione would go and spend the day with her parents, sometimes Harry accompanied her and sometimes he chose to stay behind. On the days where she did not go into London, she and Harry would lounge around Shell Cottage, talking for hours.

At night, when Ginny and Ron had returned home, they would all Apparate to the Burrow for dinner. Ron had reassured Hermione countless times that this was not a result of her cooking abilities, but rather that Mrs. Weasley would kill them all if they did not show up at least once a day.

The last day of the month, a Sunday, saw Hermione in the kitchen of Shell Cottage, the light of the afternoon sun casting its gaze down on her like a warm blanket. At the moment, she was very harried and at her last nerve; it was Harry's birthday, and so she had gotten the idea in her head that she should bake him a chocolate cake.

Cakes were a lot harder than she had thought; there were too many ingredients. Ron, who did not work on Sundays, had told her he would help, which really meant that he sat on the counter next to her, sneaking frosting when he thought she wasn't looking.

Taking a deep breath, she smoothed out the piece of paper with the recipe on it and read through the list of it again. She had everything she needed in front of her. Carefully, she added the flour to the huge metal bowl, coughing a little as if clouded up around her.

"You don't have to do this, you know. Mum will make a huge cake; she loves Harry," Ron told her, sticking his finger into the bowl of frosting.

"I know that," Hermione said, playfully slapping his hand away, "But I just wanted to do it."

"You've got flour in your hair," he told her, and he leaned over to brush it out. She felt herself hold her breath as his face became very close to hers. But instead of taking it out of her hair, he leaned over and put his finger into the box of cocoa. Before she could tell him to stop or before she could move away, he had dipped his finger in it and rubbed it on her cheek, so that a line of brown powder traced its way across her cheekbone. She leapt back, shouting out in a mix of surprise and shock.

"Ronald Weasley, I'll get you for that!" she cried as he hopped off the counter and ran out of the room. Dipping her finger into the cocoa as well, she ran after him, the unfinished cake forgotten.

He was waiting for her in the living room, a grin on his face, which slowly slipped away as she ran at him. He ducked to the side, to get out of her reach, but she caught his wrist and he halted. She walked closer to him, their bodies barely an inch away. When she could count all of the freckles on his flushed cheeks, she lifted a finger and brushed the cocoa on her finger onto his nose. His mouth dropped open in shock, but instead of saying anything, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek, right where the chocolate was.

"Gross!" He cried after a moment, his face scrunched up in disgust, "that chocolate is disgusting, don't use it!" he said, and she laughed.

"It's for baking; serves you right," she said smugly, moving a little closer to him so that she was leaning into his body.

"Yeah, well…" Ron said, all snappy retorts clearly lost in the feel of her body on his.

He leaned down to kiss her again, only this time he kissed her lips. She put her arms around his neck, forgetting that her hands were covered in cocoa. Distantly, she realized she would have to change her clothes; Ron's chocolate covered hands were running all over her back.

When his hands reached the bottom of her shirt, she broke away, thinking it would be unwise to continue anything while they were in such public display; Harry or Ginny could walk in at any moment. They had not gotten any further in the last month than they had in the bedroom that night after the cliff. Everything was slow and sweet and perfect.

When she broke away, she did not remove her arms from around his neck. His hands were on his back. Her eyes searched deeply into his. They passed his eyes, which were only on her, to his nose, which still had cocoa on it.

"You've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?" she said softly, the memories of years past slowly creeping into her heart.

It took Ron a moment to understand, but when he finally did, his face split in a wide grin. Laughing, he leaned down again and kissed her, the whistle of a train that had sounded long ago caught between them in the heavy summer air.

***

Harry's birthday dinner was a small affair at the Burrow, which was what he had insisted on. However, he was very anxious for it because Teddy would be there, and he had yet to meet his godson.

A week earlier, Mrs. Weasley had insisted on doing something for Harry's upcoming birthday. After several refusals, Harry finally conceded to a small dinner at the Burrow. She had immediately drawn up a small guest list, and had added, without asking Harry, Andromeda and Teddy

On one of their many afternoons alone, Harry had voiced his nervousness to Hermione while sitting on the lawn, drinking lemonade.

"What if I'm rubbish at it?" he had asked her voicing his concern of being a bad godfather, tracing his finger along the rim of the glass cup.

Hermione had given him a reassuring smile, "I'm sure you won't be; just be yourself and he'll love you. Besides, he's only two months old, I'm sure as long as you hold him he'll love you," she had told him encouragingly.

Now, minutes before they were to depart for the Burrow, Hermione's eyes trained after Harry as he paced from the living room to the dining room to the kitchen and back again. They were waiting for Ron, who had gone upstairs – at Hermione's insistence – to change out of the shirt that she had gotten chocolate on.

He clambered down the stairs, grumbling at her nagging and stopped short at the sight of her; she had changed her clothes in the spare bedroom next to Ginny's and Harry's room. He blinked rapidly, his eyes following the hem of her white eyelet dress.

"Wow, you look…you look amazing," he told her in a gravelly sort of voice, and she blushed a furious shade of pink. Harry had stopped mid-pace at this comment. Smirking, he shook his head and began pacing again, but Hermione caught his arm as he passed her to go into the kitchen.

"Come on, now that we're all here, we should go," she told him, and he nodded, his eyes wide with apprehension.

They grasped hands and turned on the spot as Hermione thought of the living room in the Burrow. When she opened her eyes, the place she could picture so vividly; from the stuffing leaking out of the large armchair near the fireplace to the ornaments on the little table near the sofa, was right in front of her eyes.

They were engulfed in the usual swarm of hugs and shouts of greeting. Harry had his hand shaken half a dozen times, and Hagrid gave him a pat on the back that drove his knees into the floor with a painful-sounding crash. When he had picked himself up off the floor, Hermione glanced at Harry and noticed that he had become unnaturally stiff, as if a board had been placed on his back.

Andromeda was a little removed from the huddle of Weasleys and friends, a small bundle of blue blankets clasped in her arms. Harry made his way toward her unblinkingly, as if he were sleepwalking. Hermione watched as he held his arms out wordlessly, as if he had always been meant to do this. She watched as Andromeda carefully placed Teddy in Harry's arms. She watched as he melted a little, almost shrinking in height. He stared down intensely at the tiny person in his arms, a smile playing at the corner of his eyes. He looked up at Hermione, his eyes a little bright.

Hermione did not notice that everyone else had frozen to watch Harry; she wondered if any of them knew that had done it. Ginny was watching in a fierce sort of pride, Mrs. Weasley and Andromeda were both crying, and Ron looked as though Harry had just done something extremely brave.

After a moment, the spell began to break and people began moving around again. Mrs. Weasley ordered people outside; they would be eating on the lawn, for once again the Burrow seemed to be holding more people than it should.

Under the setting sun they ate dinner, their laughter rising high above them into the pink sky, the chatter settling in as comforting as the warm air that hung around them. Hermione noticed that Harry barely ate anything at all; he was too busy holding Teddy. Halfway through dinner, Mrs. Weasley exclaimed that Harry had to eat something; it was _his_ birthday after all. So Harry grudgingly gave Teddy up and he was passed down the table.

Much to everyone's pleasure, Teddy would change his appearance based on who was holding him, something very amusing to watch. His hair up until this point had been thick and black, sticking out from his head in odd angles. But when Harry passed him to Fleur, it turned a white blond and seemed to shrink a little, becoming less unruly.

After Fleur came Ginny, and his hair turned thicker and a bright shade of red, so that it looked a bit like fire. After Ginny, George held him, but his hair did not change. Then, George passed Teddy to Hermione. She giggled as Teddy's hair slowly turned brown and grew much, much thicker. Ron, who was sitting next to her, leaned over and exclaimed, "Hey, that's really cool!"

By this time, dinner was over, and they stood around on the lawn as Mrs. Weasley put the finishing touches on the cake. Hermione, whose arms were growing tired with the weight of the baby, turned to Ron, extending her arms slightly. His face looked as though she were offering him a bomb.

"No, no I can't," he said firmly, taking several steps back.

"Why not?" she asked, bringing Teddy close to her chest again. She glanced down at his hair again, smiling at how it looked like a shorter version of hers.

"I just can't," Ron said, and his face was one of utmost terror.

"Is something wrong?" she asked him, furrowing her eyebrows in concern.

Ron's ears grew red, "I'm not good with babies," he admitted, shuffling his feet a little so that he pulled up grass with his toe.

Hermione laughed kindly. "I'm sure you're not bad, it's really not that hard. Here, I'll show you…" but before she could hand him Teddy again, he took another step back.

"No really, I'm dreadful. I never know what I have to do with my hands and I always get scared that I'll drop it or something. I can't do it Hermione," he said, eying Teddy as if he were a very dangerous animal.

Hermione – though she did not know why – felt her heart fall a few feet, but she said nothing. Instead, she handed Teddy to Andromeda, who said that Teddy should be put to bed anyways.

"Where are you taking him?" Harry cried out as Andromeda made her way back to the Burrow.

"Molly set up a crib in the living room, I'll put him in that," she told him, smiling at his immediate concern. She looked down at the cooing baby, the lines in her face settling into tenderness.

"What if he starts crying?" Harry asked worriedly, clearly not content with this answer. Andromeda laughed a little, looking up from the baby in her arms to Harry's outraged face, and then back to Teddy again.

"Trust me Harry, this little boy has a pair of lungs that would put an opera singer to shame. We'll be able to hear him," and with that she went back into the Burrow.

Ron avoided Hermione as they sat down for desert, his eyes downcast, never straying from his lap. He did not eat any of the cake Mrs. Weasley put in front of him, and mumbled answers when anyone talked to him. When Hermione asked him something, he pretended not to hear her; this made it very hard for her to talk to him, for she wanted to tell him that she didn't mind he wasn't good with children. However, she was not sure if she could have done it truthfully; she did not know why, but it had upset her, the way Ron had reacted to Teddy.

Halfway through dessert, Ron clearly could not take anymore; he excused himself from the table with the muttered excuse that he had left something in his bedroom, and made his way up to the Burrow. Hermione watched him go, her face falling. She could feel Harry's eyes on her, but she refused to return the glance; she did not want to admit how much Ron had disappointed her.

Dessert was over and everyone fell into a comfortable lull of conversation. Their plates still in front of them, they all slumped back in their chairs as the evening turned into a beautiful summer night. Mr. Weasley waved his wand and lanterns all around the garden ignited, bathing them in a warm glow. Hermione could not enjoy the pleasant atmosphere; she kept on looking at Ron's chair, which was still vacant. Worried, she excused herself and walked through the back door into the kitchen.

The first thing she heard was voices. As she grew nearer, she realized that it was, in fact, only one voice. Ron's. She inched forward to the source of it; the living room. She inched a little from the doorway, and saw, to her amazement, Ron standing in front of her, Teddy in his arms.

He had not heard her come in; he was completely focused on the small baby he was holding. A smile played at his lips, turning it up at the corners. He was rocking a sleeping Teddy slightly, a soothing, soft voice issuing from his lips.

"I knew I could do this. Well, actually I didn't but it turns out I can. You don't mind me, do you? I'm doing the proper thing, right? Your head's supported and you're all tucked in to your blanket, I haven't done anything wrong, not yet. And wow, look at that!" Ron exclaimed, and Hermione gasped, sure he was going to drop Teddy.

Teddy had just woken up, and looked into the face of the person holding him. Ron's expression turned fearful; as if Teddy would somehow know it was Ron and decide that he would not like him. Ron had exclaimed because Teddy, upon examination of the face of the being whose arms were supporting him, had turned his hair into the exact shade of red as Ron's.

"That's a pretty neat trick," Ron told him. "Really slick, you're lucky you can do that, it's rare you know. Red's a good color, isn't it? I always thought so. Hey!" he said suddenly, and Hermione jumped again, sure that either she was going to get caught or that Ron would let go of Teddy "You're not crying! You must like me, right? Or at least I'm not doing anything wrong. I wish someone would see this, they'd never believe I was actually holding you, a baby! They'd never believe that I could do this right," Ron said to Teddy.

To her amazement, Hermione realized that she had tears in her eyes. Her fingers tingled and her heart felt as if it were pouring out into her body, numbing everything. There was something about Ron standing there with Teddy in his arms. Teddy, whose hair was red as Ron's and looked as though, as if he could be…

She wiped her eyes silently, a smile dancing on her face. She listened as Ron talked to Teddy, his cheerful banter keeping the baby calm and happy. She watched blissfully as Ron carefully bent down once Teddy had fallen asleep again, putting him gently back in the crib. She watched as he stood over the tiny body, his face glowing with some sort of hidden pride.

When Ron walked out of the living room, Hermione made no effort to hide herself in the shadows or pretend that she had not seen what he had been doing. At first, his expression was shocked, his eyes lingering on her eyes, which were still leaking tears, to her smile.

He did not need to ask anything, he did not need to question why on earth she was crying at the sight of him holding a baby. He pulled her close to him and kissed her, his lips parting hers with so much care Hermione felt a little part of herself break. And as they kissed, she tried to tell him what thoughts were spinning in her head. She tried to tell him how her heart had leapt as he had held Teddy, a baby who, for one moment, had looked as though it could have been… well, theirs.

~*~

_Author's Note: Well, there it is, another fairly long chapter : ). I wanted to just say a few things before I get bombarded by this question: In this chapter I decided that Hermione would go not go back to school, and she and Harry would not start their jobs right away. I looked around for interviews with Ms. Rowling, and in most of the articles she was very vague. There was never a clear line that said "yes she does this" or "no, she does that". Although there was a general consensus that she goes back to school, it was something I could never picture. So, I decided to choose a path for her that I personally could see her making that would still be true to her character. I hope I did a good job explaining why she chose this, and I hope no one was disappointed! Please tell me what you think!_

_I know I had a previous comment that Hermione ends up in magical law, which is true, Hermione does, but J.K Rowling said she would first go into the_ _Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I hope that clears it up! My only concern with this chapter is that it is, again, too cliché. I think there is a fine line between heartfelt and genuine, and cliché. When I wrote the bit where Hermione talks to Ron about their future (particularly the part where Ron opens up about being second all the time), when she's baking, and when Ron's holding the baby, I was very nervous that it sounded fake or poorly written. I'm sorry if I sound so indecisive, but I _do _want to please you, as the reader, and I want things that sound good in my head to sound equally as nice on paper. _

_I'm sorry, there wasn't a lot of fluff in this chapter…the next one will be _filled_ with it I promise!_

_You probably get tired of reading this, but reviews would be fantastic! I would love to hear what you think!_


	19. Fast and Slow

_Author's Note: Thank you, thank you for all of your reviews. Happy Valentine's Day and happy reading!_

~*~

Chapter Nineteen:

August passed in a flurry of wedding preparations; Percy and Audrey were getting married on the last day of the month. There was still so much to do and plan; apparently, Percy and Audrey had planned on eloping so they were starting the arrangements at the very beginning. This particularly shocked Ron, who was clearly convinced that his brother did not possess the rebellion or courage to do something so anti-conforming. Percy had told him – in quite a huffy and irritated manner – that eloping had not been his first choice, but with the war going on, the two thought they had no other option. Now that the war was over, however, Mrs. Weasley did not think that anything could prevent them from having a full-out ceremony, which she would single-handedly plan in less than a month.

Hermione thought she had seen enough seating charts, flower arrangements, menus, and dress designs to last her a life time. She did not, however, voice this opinion to Mrs. Weasley, who irrationally thought that just because Ron had finally gotten up the nerve to tell Hermione that he indeed liked her, he would be popping the question any day now.

Since everyone else was working, most of the wedding duties were handed down to Hermione; Harry seemed to mysteriously melt out of the picture whenever the word 'wedding' was uttered. It was a great relief that her parent's had started another practice; she was now at the Burrow every day, which would have cut into her time with the Grangers'. She sat at the kitchen table all day long, folding napkins, making soufflés, and tuning Mrs. Weasley's constant wedding-banter out of her head.

She was not exactly sure how the chore had gotten passed down to her; she had not entirely forgiven Percy for walking out on his family and tuning on Harry, and she hadn't even made up her mind whether or not she liked Audrey. According to Ron, it was entirely her fault because she had not outright refused (the other's had, feeling as though Bill and Fleur's wedding served as a warning as to what helping Mrs. Weasley was like). Fleur was no help either; at around four months pregnant, she had come to the conclusion that she was not longer could do anything at all. She lounged around on the sofa in the living room all day, taking up twice as much space as a person her size needed to, as if she thought she would go into labor any day now. Hermione, who had never completely stopped disliking Fleur, could not help but feel slightly resentful.

A week before the wedding, Hermione was sitting at her usual spot at the kitchen table when a loud popping sound startled her, the stack of self-addressing seating cards she was overseeing cascading over the table as she jumped and her wand twitched. Ron stood in the kitchen, nearly falling against the stove, where a pot of soup was boiling.

"Ron!" she cried, so happy for the distraction from the tedious work that she stood up, sending more seating cards flying. She raced around the table and kissed him right on the lips. She was very happy Mrs. Weasley had left the room for a moment. He seemed taken aback by her enthusiastic greeting, but he did not seem displeased nor did he question it.

"Why are you back so soon?" she asked him, her arms still around his neck.

"George asked me to get something from his room, it's a product that wasn't completely finished, but he thinks he'll be able to fix it now," Ron said hoarsely, he was still a little dazed by her unexpected kiss.

"So you have to leave?" she asked desperately, turning back to the table where the piles of blank cards waited for her. She was overcome by the idea of throwing them all into the fire.

"Yeah, I think so," Ron said apologetically. "Is it really that bad?" Somewhere in the question the conversation turned from sincere to flirtatious.

Hermione nodded seriously. "Yes, it is. I've been addressing envelopes and making seating cards all day," she said, as if it were the most horrible punishment in the world.

"Well," Ron said, playing along. "I don't think I could just leave you here, it wouldn't be right…morally, you know," he said, grinning at her. She felt her heart lift into her throat.

Taking her hand, he led her up to George's room. She sat on the bed as he rifled through seamlessly endless boxes. When he finally found the object he was searching for, he held it above his head, as if it were a prize. Taking her hand again, they went back into the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley was watching over the soup.

"Hi, mum. I just came here to get something for George. I'm going back to the shop, and Hermione's coming with me," Ron said, speaking to a spot above his mother's elbow.

"Is that alright, Mrs. Weasley?" Hermione asked cautiously, and Ron shook his head warningly at her.

"Oh, yes. It's fine," Mrs. Weasley said, waving her wand vaguely and causing the soup to turn a violent shade of pink. Hermione was sure Mrs. Weasley had not heard a word of what had been said; her eyes were fixed on the hand wrapped in her youngest son's. Ron pulled Hermione out of the kitchen before Mrs. Weasley started sobbing (her eyes did look quite bright) or before she would come to her senses and force Hermione back into wedding work.

"She's gone mad," Ron said when they said once they were safely in the garden and out of earshot. "I think she honestly expects us to…to…" but he did not finish the sentence. Hermione did not know if this was because there were too many things that would fit, or because he was uncomfortable with what his mother was expecting, exactly.

"Are we going back to the shop?" Hermione asked him, the warmth of his hand in hers running up her arm so that if felt as if it had been soaked in hot water. The feeling of it was very nice.

"Yes, I have to go back," Ron said apologetically, and Hermione shook her head.

"It's fine, it'll be better than sitting in there listening to Fleur moan about her ankles."

Ron looked horrified, as if there were no greater punishment than sitting around and listening to Fleur complain about her swollen feet. Grasping her hand tightly, he twisted into the air, and Hermione felt herself follow him into the vacuum of nothingness.

When she could breathe again, she was in Diagon Alley. It looked like it had before the war and the fear that it had caused. She smiled at the bright window displays and the people crowding in the streets, their laughter rising high above the screech of owls or the shouts of children as they wove through people's ankles. Hermione marveled at it all; how something so empty and dark could turn around and become whole again, so soon, with no scars.

"Is it always this busy?" Hermione asked, not letting go of Ron's hand. He nodded at her, stepping aside so that a woman carrying two children while three trailed behind her could pass by him.

"Yeah, and it's great for business," he said cheerfully, opening the door of the shop for her and she walked inside.

Like the alley outside, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes did not look any different than the last time she had been here about two years ago. The shop itself seemed to be alive; there was a certain hum to it, a certain rhythm. It had a life of its own, a life, Hermione knew, that Fred had given it. Boxes flew off the shelves, everywhere she turned things moved or flashed or banged loudly. There were flashy displays and eye-watering colors. The sounds emitting from products mixed together in the excited air, creating an unearthly din.

George appeared at their elbows as quickly as if he had Apparated there; Hermione did not know how he could maneuver around the piles of boxes stacked nearly to the ceiling. He took the thing Ron had taken from his bedroom with a word of thanks and smiled kindly at Hermione.

"Mum let you off, did she? How did you get her to do it?" he asked, his voice a mix of awe and admiration.

Hermione shook her head. "I have no idea," she said, speaking slightly louder than normal so that she could be heard. "But Ron was in the same room as me, and she never concentrates well when we come within a two foot radius of each other," she said laughingly. George seemed slightly taken aback at the joke, as if he did not think she had it in her.

"Well, lucky you, you're finally free from all of Fleur's complaining. I still live in the house, remember? I get it all the time. Last night she asked me to make tea for her; and she was right in front of the tea pot!" George exclaimed, as if this was an unimaginably terrible crime. Ron smirked.

After a few moments of silence between the three of them, which was filled by all of the things around them, Ron took Hermione's hand again and said, "George, I'm going to show Hermione my office, is that alright?"

"Oh, sure, don't mind me. Leave me here in the midst of everything like you just did to mum. It doesn't matter that there are about three hundred people in here and I'm at my wits end," George said, sarcasm leaking out of every syllable. Ron opened his mouth to say something back, but George waved him away. "I was joking, joking! Go, I'm sure Hermione would _love_ to see the closet you call your office," George said, and he disappeared again as quickly as he had come.

Whatever Ron shouted at George's back was lost in the roar of the shop, but Hermione got the jist of it; his eyes were narrowed with anger and his ears were turning red.

Ron guided her through the crowded store. Hermione could feel eyes on them as they pushed through the crowd; she kept on forgetting that they were rather well known now. It was quite a change, opening up the paper in the morning and seeing your name splashed around.

At the end of the shop were two doors. One had a shiny silver name plate, with George's name carved into it. On the other was a torn strip of parchment, on which Ron had scribbled his name and stuck it to the door. Hermione found this terribly endearing.

It was a stretch to call the room in which they now stood an office. Ron had tried to make it his own, but there was such little space to work with, there was not much he could do. It was around the size of a kitchen table, and the ceiling was only about six feet high; Ron had to bend down slightly to stand. There was no desk; one would not have fit. Instead, there was a large black leather recliner and a rug. The walls were plastered with the posters from Ron's bedroom, adding to the claustrophobic feel.

"It's…it's…" Hermione said slightly breathlessly, struggling to find something that would be both believable and would impress Ron.

"Terrible, I know," Ron said, coming to her aid. He dropped her hand and sat down in the chair in the middle of the tiny room. She looked around the four covered walls, as if there were much more to inspect than the bright posters and a few bare inches of white plaster.

"Yes," she said slowly, "But Ron, it's an office. It's _your_ office," she said, trying to find the pleasure in the simplicity of it.

Ron grinned up at her. "This is why I love you. You're standing in the middle of a _closet_, and you think it's the greatest thing ever," he said, the smile splitting his face.

She sat down on the run in front of him. "I hope that's not the _only_ reason," she said jokingly, and he laughed softly. He slid off the chair so that he was facing her on the floor, his face very close to hers.

"No, but if I listed them all, they'd fill this entire shop…no, the entire alley," he said softly, and Hermione felt her heart begin to race. Perhaps it was because the room was so small and had no window, but Hermione felt like the air was harder to breathe, it took more effort for her to inhale and exhale; though the feeling could also be attributed to being alone with Ron.

Her head was spinning as Ron kissed her. All of the sounds around them, the sounds of the joke shop and the screams of delight from dozens of children seemed to extinguish as if a switch had been turned off when their lips touched. Her arms wrapped around his neck and her hands wove their way into his hair. She could feel his tangling in her own hair, caressing her.

It was slightly awkward, kissing while they were both sitting cross-legged on the floor. Hermione could almost feel the air between them, it pressed against her, as heavy as a brick wall. Slowly, they moved so that the wall seemed to diminish as their bodies became closer. They were kneeling again, and the passion of the kiss prevented them from feeling the pang of the hard surface under them. Distantly, Hermione felt the rug under her bare knees itch her skin, but she did not move.

She could feel her heart pounding in her ears as Ron's hands moved down from her hair to her back, and she knew exactly where they were going. Her fingers became numb as every single part of her body was on end, waiting for what he would do next.

His long fingers seemed to pause for a moment at the end of her tank top. Hermione broke away from him, though she once again did not remove her arms from his neck. He, in turn, did not let go of her shirt.

"Ron!" she said, and she was not surprised to find that she was whispering. "What if someone…" but Ron shook his head.

"No one will come in, I promise," he said, and he looked into her eyes, the blue of them filled with the wonder of love and tenderness.

For the first time, it was Ron who caused the thin material of her shirt to part with her skin; until this point she had always been the one to remove it. She did not say anything as he slowly pulled it away and her back was exposed to the thick air of the closet; she trusted him. She felt herself shiver in the heat as he gently pulled it over her head, every movement done with care and affection.

Hermione grabbed two handfuls of Ron's shirt in her fists as she pressed her nearly-bare torso into his chest. They kissed like that for what seemed like forever, a blissful eternity, a perfect perpetuity.

In the tiny room that was Ron's office, Hermione seemingly let go of everything. She did not know where she was or what time it was or even what month they were in. All she could think, all she knew, was the feel of Ron's hands on her back, the feel of his shirt in her hands and the smell of him in the air. All she knew to be real was this tiny room, which could have been anywhere in the world. All she knew was that she was kissing him, and she was slowly, slowly floating away from everything.

And then reality came crashing down around them as George knocked forcefully at the door, yelling at Ron to get more stock from the basement. In a blink of an eye, a single heartbeat, the world returned to them, and they were back on earth. Ron shook his head, as if Hermione had filled it with something in that kiss.

George knocked impatiently at the door again, and the sound of it resonated like a cannon through their heaven. Hermione, coming to her senses at this second sound, jumped up and grabbed her shirt, which Ron had thrown aside. She covered herself with it, as if George could see through the solid door. Ron stood up and watched as she pulled it over her head again, smoothing her hair so that it would not look as obvious as to what they had been doing.

Ron muttered darkly under his breath as he opened the door for Hermione and shut it behind them with a force that was not quite necessary. George was standing in front of them, his arms crossed, a smug smile on his face. Hermione looked at Ron's hair and saw, to her embarrassment, that it was standing on end. It could not have been clearer what they had been doing in his office. George seemed to notice this, but he said nothing; he continued to look smugly at the two of them.

After a few moments of an awkward silence, George turned and walked away, his shoulders shaking with, Hermione knew, laughter he had been bottling up. Ron called out to him again, and once again, his retaliation was lost in the sounds around them. Hermione took his hand in hers, and he stopped yelling, looking down at the feel of her touch.

"Your office is nice," she said slightly breathlessly and his face transformed instantly, the lines of anger softening as he smiled, because that compliment, that approval, meant more to him than Hermione knew he would ever be able to tell her.

***

The morning of the wedding dawned bright and clear, with just a hint of fall air in the breeze. The sky showed no clouds and it was the kind of day that seemed to emulate beauty, so even the trees looked nice.

Hermione woke up on the couch in the Burrow's living room. For a moment, she lay there wondering why on earth she had woken up so early; the sun had barely risen above the grass beyond the window. And then she heard the sound of someone walking into something and swearing under their breath. There was someone in the kitchen; that must have been what had woken her up.

She sat up and stretched her arms above her head. She had not had a very good night's sleep; she did not realize that she had gotten used to the feel of Ron's arms around her as she fell asleep. Alone on the couch all night, she had felt slightly lost, and had missed the feel of him.

She quietly crept to the kitchen, pausing in the doorway at the redheaded person hopping up and down, holding her toe. Ginny's hair, which was messily piled on top of her hair, was coming undone as she moaned in pain, clutching her foot. At the sight of Hermione, she stopped hopping up and down, looking slightly embarrassed for acting so ridiculously.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked quietly, pulling out the chair she was closest to and sitting down. Ginny copied her and sat down as well on the opposite side of the table.

"Fine, I stubbed my toe on the corner of the cabinet, I think it's broken," Ginny winced.

Hermione looked closely at the girl in front of her. There was something different about her, though she could not place it. "Are you sure?" Hermione asked, not talking about her toe anymore.

Ginny's eyes widened as her cheeks flushed. Tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, she looked down at the scratched wood table and said, "Yes, sorry I woke you up."

Hermione opened her mouth to say she didn't mind at all, but someone was coming down the stairs, the steps heavy with tiredness. Harry entered the kitchen, his hair stuck up on one side and his eyes very bloodshot. Ginny jumped up at the sight of him, her mouth in a perfect "O". Harry took several steps back at the sight of her, his cheeks growing red.

"Oh," he said, his voice cracking. Hermione, stuck in the middle of the two of them, looked back and forth, her expression curious and slightly confused.

"Well, I'll just…I'm going to…" but he ran back up the stairs without completing the sentence. Ginny sat back down again, her cheeks roughly the same color as her hair. Hermione looked at her for a few minutes, and then gasped with realization.

"Ginny!" she said loudly, and Ginny's eyes flew to Hermione's face, begging her to keep her voice down. "Sorry," she whispered. "Ginny, did you…?" but she stopped short, not knowing how to address it.

Ginny nodded, biting her lip. Last night, there had been much confusion over sleeping arrangements; the four of them had decided to sleep at the Burrow instead of Shell Cottage. Ron's room now housed George, so Ron slept on the camp bed, leaving Harry without a room. Hermione had given up her bed to Ginny in exchange for the sofa in the living room. Charlie, who had decided to stay in England rather than return to Romania, had transformed the shed outside into a small apartment and was sleeping in there, which left the couch available. Hermione had thought that changing rooms with Harry would not lead to anything; the two slept in the same room at Shell Cottage. But apparently, judging by the events that had just passed in the kitchen, something had.

"We did," Ginny said, her cheeks looking as though she had just run a great distance. "It was…it was…"

"You don't have to tell me," Hermione said quickly, because truthfully, she did not really want to know. She was also slightly surprised; she had thought that this had happened before, though this was an assumption made without any information.

Ginny looked alarmed. "I wasn't going to! But now it's…awkward," she said finally.

"Really?" Hermione said, raising an eyebrow, "I hadn't noticed," she added sarcastically.

Ginny's face softened a little, "Ha ha. God, I didn't think it would be strange in the morning, but when we woke up, it was…" she shook her head, as if that would rid her of the image. "I practically ran out of the room," she said miserably.

Hermione nodded sympathetically because there was honestly nothing she could think of to comfort Ginny. "Maybe you should go and talk to him," she suggested. "The longer this continues, the more awkward it will get. It could get terrible"

"What's terrible?" said Ron, who had just come into the kitchen, blinking tiredly at the two of them.

"You sticking your nose into every conversation I have," Ginny snapped, her nerves clearly getting the best of her. Ron looked taken aback by the comment, usually Ginny waited for Ron to do something before she picked a fight with him.

Ron glared at his younger sister, clearly offended by the jibe, and Ginny, who was looking guiltier and guiltier with every passing second, tried to stare back, but then lowered her eyes. After a few long minutes, Ginny jumped up from her seat and ran from the room, brushing past Ron as she went. Ron looked more bewildered than ever.

"What the bloody hell was that all ab–" but he didn't finish. An earsplitting shout ripped the air as Mrs. Weasley shouted for Hermione floors above.

Hermione felt her heart sink; whatever she was being summoned for, it was clearly not good. She rushed out of the kitchen kissing a very bemused Ron on her way out. Ron just stood there in the middle of the kitchen, his mouth slightly open, his face wearing an expression that clearly wished he had stayed in bed this morning. Hermione felt sorry for him, even if Mrs. Weasley hadn't called her, there was no way she could tell him any of what had just happened in the kitchen. Ron struggled with the fact that Harry held his sister's hand, she did not like to think of what he would do when he learned that they had done…well, everything.

She met Mrs. Weasley on the third floor, hovering near the door of Percy's room. She was twisting her hands in front of her, biting her lip in apprehension. When she saw Hermione, her eyes widened in relief, and she looked marginally less worried. Hermione hesitated on the last stair to the landing, wondering what Mrs. Weasley wanted of her.

"Hermione, thank God! I _really_ need you right now!" Mrs. Weasley cried, still wringing her hands. "Audrey, well, she's having a little bit of…of a meltdown," Mrs. Weasley said to Hermione's shock. For as long as she had known Audrey (which hadn't been very long) she had always seen so composed and cool. Hermione didn't know she had the ability to display emotions.

"Why do you need me?" Hermione asked slightly breathlessly. She was not close with Audrey, though she realized with a jolt that no one really was.

"Well, I thought you could talk to her, you're so…so logical," Mrs. Weasley said, and Hermione raised her eyebrows. What Audrey needed was probably not logic. However, she did not challenge Mrs. Weasley. She knocked on the door and waited for the soft, "come in" before she opened it and closed it softly behind her.

Audrey was in terrible shape. Her make-up was everywhere and her hair was a mess; she was running her hands through it as she paced back and forth across the small bedroom. Her face was very pale and she looked as if she were about to faint. Every time she reached the closet, where her dress was hanging up, she would let out a soft moan and begin pacing again.

Hermione stood there, horror-struck, as Percy's fiancée continued pacing as if she had not noticed Hermione's presence. She did not know what to say to Audrey, this was a situation completely new to her. After several hopeless minutes, she was about to turn to leave when Audrey finally spoke.

"Please, don't leave," she said softly as Hermione put her hand on the doorknob. It was the pleading, the quiet, desperate tone that made Hermione stop short. She took her hand off of the cold metal and turned to face Audrey again.

"I can't do it," Audrey said in that hushed, fraught tone. Hermione's eyes widened in fright; this was _definitely_ not a job for her.

"Do – do what?" she asked, feigning ignorance to buy herself time.

"I can't marry Percy," Audrey said in a strangled whisper. Hermione's heart plummeted. The marriage between Ron's brother and the girl in front of her dangled in front of Hermione, it was all up to her. Why did Mrs. Weasley put her in this position, surely Ron's mother would do a better job than she was doing.

"But, don't you love him?" Hermione asked, and Mrs. Weasley was right; she was injecting reason and logic into the problem.

Audrey nodded vigorously. "Oh, I do. But I can't marry him because…because…well, because everyone here hates me."

Hermione's eyes widened, for this was true to a certain degree. George relentlessly made fun of her, calling her an Ice Queen, both behind her back and occasionally (when he was in a particularly nasty mood) to her face. Ginny made no effort to hide her displeasure, nor did Ron who was, though he did not want to admit it, slightly afraid of her. Mrs. Weasley liked her about as much as she liked the relentless gnomes who inhabited her would-be perfect garden. Even Hermione was intimidated by her.

"That – that's not true," she said with false bravado, hating herself for lying outright to Audrey's face.

Audrey moaned again and collapsed on the bed, putting her face in her hands. "You're lying, they all hate me," Audrey cried.

Hermione was silent, wondering if there was anything she could possibly say to make this conversation go the way it had to. From the landing, she could hear Fleur walk by, complaining about something in her heavy French accent. Hermione was struck with a moment of brilliance.

Feeling much better about herself, she sat down next to Audrey and put her arm around her shoulders. It was slightly awkward at first, for the two of them were far from close. "Do you know Fleur?" she asked Audrey.

Audrey looked up, wiping her eyes. "That's Bill's wife right?" Hermione nodded. "Yes, I know her. But don't start comparing me to her, Percy's mum _loves _her. You should hear the way that woman goes on about her to Percy, you'd think she was trying to get the two of them together," Audrey said dramatically, burying her face in her hands again.

"Actually, she hated her at first," Hermione said, which got Audrey's attention; she sat up quickly, eyeing Hermione suspiciously.

"You're lying," she said again, her eyes narrowed.

Hermione shook her head. "I'm not, she _hated_ her; she tried to set Bill up with someone else…which didn't work, obviously."

Audrey raised her eyebrows. "I didn't know that," she said, half to herself. Then she looked back at Hermione. "Why did you tell me this?"

"Well, because you're in the same position as Fleur was, aren't you? And everything turned out fine for her, so it'll turn out fine for you too," Hermione said bracingly. Audrey seemed heartened by what she had said.

"You really think so?" Audrey asked hopefully, and Hermione nodded fervently. She genuinely meant it, for now that she had talked to Audrey, she realized that she wasn't so terrible after all. With her mascara leaving dark rings under her eyes and her hair a tangled mess, she looked much more human than she did in her pristine clothes and perfectly curled hair.

After a few moments of silence, Hermione cleared her throat and said, "You should be getting ready," she got off of the bed and made her way back to the door.

"Hermione," Audrey said quietly. Hermione turned again and saw that Audrey had stood up as well. She was looking at Hermione with great appreciation. "Thank you," she said quietly. Hermione smiled and nodded, then left the room.

Mrs. Weasley was waiting on the other side of the door, and nearly pounced on Hermione when she left the bedroom. Her face was very pale and the piece of paper she had been holding with a list of wedding chores now lay on the floor, a pile of shredded paper.

"Well, what happened? Is everything alright? What did she say?" she asked Hermione quickly, her words streaming together.

Hermione smiled, "Everything is fine now, she was just nervous because she thinks that we all hate her," she said.

Mrs. Weasley's mouth dropped open and a look of guilt shadowed her face. "I don't know why she'd think that…" she whispered, though from the sound of her voice, she did not entirely believe what she had just said.

Patting Hermione clumsily on the shoulder, Mrs. Weasley walked down the stairs, shouting for George. After a moment standing on the landing, Hermione decided to go see Ginny, to make sure that she was alright. Climbing down the stairs, Hermione marveled humorously to herself how many relationships she would save today.

Ginny's room was ajar, but she knocked anyways, because the last thing she wanted to do was walk in on Ginny and Harry halfway through a physical reconciliation. At Ginny's voice, she walked into the bedroom, relieved that Harry was not in there.

"How – how are you?" Hermione asked Ginny hesitantly. Ginny was sitting cross-legged on the bed, her face pale, and her eyes wide.

Ginny bit her lip, and looked out the window. "Fine," she said, and Hermione knew that she was lying.

Hermione sat down at the edge of Ginny's bed. When she realized what had happened on it last night, she jumped up, feeling extremely uncomfortable.

The two girls were immerged in a rather thick silence as Ginny continued to look out the window and Hermione looked around the room, as if something in it would help her.

"Everything is ruined!" Ginny cried after a few minutes of silence, and Hermione jumped slightly at the loud, sudden noise.

Hermione hurried to Ginny's side and sat down on the bed, because there really was no way to avoid it. If she stood there, it would be too obvious that she was uncomfortable, and it could possibly make Ginny feel worse "Ginny, I'm sure it isn't," Hermione said soothingly as Ginny took great breaths of air, trying to keep herself from crying.

"It is!" she exclaimed, "We, well we tried talking and it was just…it was so uncomfortable. It was too soon, I think that's why," Ginny said, her voice breaking a little as she struggled to keep her tears in.

"What are you going to do?" Hermione asked, looking at Ginny, who finally was looking at her.

"We decided to take it slower, Harry said the war and everything just ended and this was all too fast for him. He said that he wanted it, but he didn't…he didn't want to rush, he wanted to take time, he wanted to think," Ginny said, and a lone tear escaped from the corner of her eye. She wiped it away angrily.

Hermione gave Ginny a hug, because she did not know what else to do, but took it as a good sign when Ginny did not struggle. She felt her shirt grow a little wet with Ginny's tears, but didn't say anything. When they let go, Ginny wiped her eyes again, though now she looked livid.

"It's not _my_ fault. It's not my fault, it's his. He's the one acting all strange. Go slower? We've been dating for months! We _never_ took it slowly; we're not you and Ron."

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but decided at the last minute that this was not the time to get angry with Ginny, not when the latter was so distraught herself.

"This is all his fault!" Ginny shouted, jumping off the bed. "I'm going to find Harry and I'm going to…I'm going to…" but she did not seem to know what exactly she was going to do. She ran out of the room before Hermione could stop her.

Sighing, Hermione left Ginny's room, and could not help feeling sorry for Harry, especially now that Ginny was out for some sort of twisted revenge. She made her way to Ron's attic room, because she knew he would be able to make her feel better. It was barely nine in the morning and she was already tired.

When she reached Ron's room, she did not knock. There was no shouting, which meant that Harry was not there, and Mrs. Weasley had called George, so he was not in the bedroom either; which meant that Ron was in there alone.

When she pushed the door open, Ron was standing in the middle of his room, halfway through getting dressed. "_Hermione!_" he shouted in surprise as she walked in, and her mouth dropped in shock. He had just showered; his hair was still damp and there was a towel thrown across the camp bed. He was in a pair of orange boxers and nothing else. The pair of pants in his hands fell to the floor as his fingers became limp. Hermione stood there dumbstruck, staring at Ron, who was also frozen, looking at her.

"I –" she said haltingly, not knowing what to say. He seemed to relax after a few minutes, as if it were commonplace for Hermione to see him with practically nothing on at all. Taking the pair of pants he had dropped when she had walked in, he put them on and walked toward her, still amazing her with his nonchalant, causal manner. His torso was still bare, and Hermione watched the taunt muscles in his chest move.

"It's fine, it's just…well, those aren't my best pair," he said, his ears a little pink. He put his arms around her lower back as she looked up at him, grinning.

"What do you mean? I think the Chudley Cannons are very…mature," she joked, putting her arms around his neck. Ron's ears turned a brilliant shade of red and he moved a little closer to her.

He cupped her face in his hands and brought it closer to his face. She looked into his blue, blue eyes and thought of what Ginny said. Did they move too slowly? What if they moved too fast? But then Ron's lips were on hers, and all thoughts were erased.

The light from the early morning sun beat down on them as they kissed, Ron's hands cupping her face and her hands in his still-damp hair. It was the best feeling in the world, standing in this small bedroom with the smell of Ron everywhere. Her hands lowered to his chest as she flattened her palms on his bare skin. She could feel him shiver happily at her touch. It made her heart lift, and sound of her pulse beat loudly in her ears. Hermione slowly ran her hands up and down Ron's bare chest and she heard him let out a tiny moan of bliss. She wanted to float away in that sound, she wanted to get lost in the happiness she could give him, and the happiness he gave her.

Their kiss became more eager, Ron's hands playing with the end of her shirt until he pulled it over her head, their kiss stopping for a moment. He leaned closer to her again, only this time his lips did not reach hers. He lowered his head and kissed her, so softly it hurt her heart, on the neck. And it was now Hermione's turn to gasp softly in the sheer flawlessness of everything. She closed her eyes, submitting herself to the feel of his lips on the soft skin of her neck. She put her hands though his hair as he kissed her again, this time his mouth was a little higher on her neck. He continued to kiss her, making a path from her neck to her jaw line, across her cheek, until he reached her lips. He parted them with the same care and tenderness he had kissed her neck, and Hermione felt a tiny sound escape from the back of her throat, something between a gasp and a sigh. She thought she would die, surely no one alive and on earth could feel, could understand, happiness and pleasure like this? Hermione did not think she would ever be able to breathe or speak again. Her knees felt as though they did not exist, and she was glad that Ron was so close; she needed him to stand.

When they broke away, a thousand years might have passed, or maybe only three seconds. The sunlight fell across Ron's body, catching in his hair and his pale skin. He grinned down at her and all of Hermione's questions were answered. It didn't matter what Ginny said, everything was perfect.

~*~

_Author's Note: Oh, if only Ron were my_ _valentine, how absolutely wonderful would that be? By the way, I'm on vacation now, so I'll be able to update quickly for a whole week! This chapter was supposed to be the wedding chapter, but I promised fluff so I didn't have any room for it. I hope there was enough of it; I had to deal with a little bit of plot, so there wasn't as much as I had originally planned. Anyways, the wedding will happen in the next chapter, and there will be a good amount of fluff with Ron and Hermione in that. Reviews would be amazing!_


	20. Another Wedding

_Author's Note: Thank you for all of your reviews! Happy reading!_

Chapter Twenty:

The rest of the morning passed relatively smoothly; there were only five tantrums and a handful of missing objects. Ron lashed out at his mother after she told him to re-comb his hair for the seventh time (he ended up purposely mussing it up just to peeve her), and Ginny "accidentally" turned Harry's robes bright yellow with a spell that none of them could figure out how to reverse; Ginny quietly admitted to Hermione she herself did not know how she had done it. But, other than those few glitches everything went perfectly. Well, no one was left with any lasting damage.

The wedding would not be taking place at the Burrow, which was actually a very good decision because it meant that there was no need for vigorous house cleaning. Instead, the two would be getting married at Audrey's house. Her parents, who had died years ago, had left her their house, which actually was more like a manor. Audrey, who had sat with her as Ginny had done Hermione's hair, had jabbered on about it relentlessly, and from what Hermione could make out, it was nothing short of a small castle. Audrey seemed to think that she and Hermione were now very close; she had barely left Hermione's side all day. Hermione didn't mind it, but she was starting to feel like Harry, who now, more than ever, had adoring fans constantly fawning over him.

She had barely any time to see Ron as she ran around getting flowers for Mrs. Weasley and keeping Audrey calm; though she did hear him yelling three floors away after the hair incident. Harry had not been seen either, which worried Hermione. Apart from being extremely concerned as to how he was handling things, she realized that the last thing anyone needed was for someone to go missing; it would send Mrs. Weasley straight over the edge.

Harry slumped in around lunchtime, and Hermione instantly felt sorry for him. Every angle in his body seemed to point to the ground; he looked so miserable and lost. She crossed the room to come and comfort her, but Ginny intercepted her halfway across the living room.

"Hermione, thank God! I've been looking all over for you. Mum needs help with flowers, and I'm no good at it so she asked for you. Why we even _need_ flowers is beyond me; the wedding is going to be in the _garden_," she said, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. She looked up and saw Harry standing a few feet away from her. "Oh," she said quietly, and promptly fled from the room.

Hermione was left alone with Harry, who looked as if he was going to cry. Hermione ran into his arms, which he held out for her, begging her to come to him. He patted her clumsily on the back as she hugged him tightly, and she could hear him sniff.

"Harry," she started somewhat awkwardly. The had always had a very open friendship, but there were some things, Hermione thought. that you simply did not want to know about your best friend. This happened to be one of them. But Hermione pushed this thought out of her mind; no matter how strange it was, he needed her, and that came first. "Harry I'm so sorry, Ginny...Ginny told me, she told me what happened. I'm sorry, you must be feeling awful. I know it's bad now, but it'll get better, I know it will. It's going to take time, but things will work their way out," Hermione said. She did not know what she was talking about; it was one of the only situations where she was truly ignorant, but she hoped that she sounded convinving.

"Everything's ruined, isn't it?" he asked her, as if he had not heard a word she had said. Shamefully, he wiped his eyes on the corner of his shirt when he had thought that she wasn't looking.

"No, but your dress robes are," Hermione said, giving him a kind smile. Harry looked up at her hesitantly.

"Why? What has she done to them?" Harry asked wearily, and Hermione knew that by 'she' he meant Ginny.

"Well, on the _bright_ side, they're a lovely shade of…of yellow," she said dryly, not quite meeting his eyes. Harry groaned.

"Perfect! So on top of everything else, I'm going to look like a complete idiot," he moaned, sidestepping Hermione and stomping upstairs to Ron's room, hollering as he went.

Mrs. Weasley shouted her name, her voice far outweighing Harry's. Hermione jumped; she had forgotten that Ginny had asked her to help with flowers. She ran out of the room to fix whatever crisis was wrecking the wedding at that moment.

At three o' clock, Hermione was finally able to have a moment without chaos to get changed for the wedding. It was cutting it very close; they were supposed to be leaving at three thirty, but there had been too much to do, and Hermione was scared that if she left Mrs. Weasley's side for a moment, the woman would go into hysterics. She and Ginny changed together, both facing opposite walls, the conversation of the early morning still lingered between them.

She and Ginny were both Audrey's bridesmaids (Hermione had realized, with a rather guilty pang, that Audrey didn't really have any friends at all), so they had agreed to do it. The colors of the wedding would be white and midnight blue, which aroused some joking from George because Percy was, after all, a Gryffindor. They had matching gowns of midnight blue silk, which wrapped tightly until the waist before it dropped to the floor in a skirt Hermione wanted to twirl around in. Ginny examined herself in the mirror, scrunching up her nose.

"It's strapless," she complained, "I'll be pulling it up all night," she said, turning to Hermione, who was putting on her shoes and had not seen Ginny.

"I'm sure it won't be that bad," Hermione said, standing up straight and joining Ginny at the full-length mirror.

"Poor Ron," Ginny said, addressing Hermione's reflection in the mirror. "You look beautiful. He's going to absolutely _drool_ over you," she said laughingly.

Hermione pulled a face at the last image, but did not say anything. Instead, she looked at her reflection, tilting her head awkwardly to one side. She had never thought herself to be pretty, though she did not mind it; there were more important things than outward beauty. The girl in front of her, wearing her dress, was nothing like the girl Ginny saw. Ginny saw someone mature, confident, and beautiful. Hermione saw someone who liked to read books and didn't know what the word make-up was.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, stop doing that. You look good, don't get all self-conscious and ruin it," she said, pulling Hermione away from the mirror. "Come on, I can't _wait_ until Ron sees you," she said, leading Hermione out of the room.

Hermione allowed herself to get tugged down the stairs into the living room, where everyone but Harry and Ron were waiting. Ginny quickly surveyed the people in front of her. Hermione saw her shrink several inches in relief when she realized that Harry was not in the immediate vicinity.

Mrs. Weasley blinked back happy tears at the sight of the two of them, patting Hermione on the cheek and biting her lip. Audrey rushed up to Hermione, kissing her on both cheeks and exclaiming how "gorgeous" she looked. George jokingly wolf-whistled, to which Ginny responded with a rude hand gesture once her mother's back was turned.

Two sets of footsteps pounded down the stairs as Harry and Ron finally entered, Harry wearing an old pair of dress robes which were a little short, but nonetheless a more respectable and appropriate shade of black. Ron, for the first time, had outshined him; he had bought new dress robes with some of the money from working. Hermione could not help but notice how good he looked, she felt her heart begin to beat at a much faster pace.

"Sorry we're late," Ron told the room, pushing back his purposefully-messy hair. "We were trying to fix…" but the rest of the sentence was lost.

Much to Hermione's embarrassment (and very deep down, pleasure) Ron stopped a few feet away from her; his mouth opened slightly, his eyes wide. He was looking at her as if she couldn't possibly be real. He wasn't drooling, but Ginny's prediction was not too far off. Hermione was acutely aware that every pair of eyes in the room was directed at the two of them, something Ron had not yet picked up on.

"Wow, Hermione, you look…you look…you're beautiful," Ron said in a very strangled, tortured sort of hoarse whisper. Hermione smiled, secretly proud of herself for having the ability to provoke such awe in him.

He slowly made his way to her, as if he were walking in a dream. He put his arm on her lower back, and leaned in to kiss her. Hermione gasped, "Ron," she hissed, "Everyone's watching," she said.

Ron jumped and looked around guiltily, his mouth dropping open slightly again. It seemed as though he had forgotten that they were in a room full of people. Hermione felt her heart grow warm at the thought of it; how no one else seemed to have mattered to him except for her. Ron backed away from her looking extremely guilty but albeit reluctant; his hand stayed on her waist as he turned to address his family, though none of them looked to be particularly engaged.

George was shaking in silent laughter, his eyes streaming; he was laughing so hard he was actually bent double with the sheer force of it. Mr. Weasley was caught between pride and disgust, while Mrs. Weasley's voice shone only with delight. Harry had stuffed his fist in his mouth to keep himself from laughing; the first sign of happiness he had shown all day. Ginny had collapsed into a chair, small snorts of laughter escaping at random intervals. Percy was looking annoyed, as if the two of them were wasting what precious time he had. The remaining members of the family all wore identical "I-knew-it-would-happen-sooner-or-later-it's-about-time-you-two" expressions.

"Right," Ron said awkwardly, "Shall we go then?"

"Are you finished or should we all leave you two for a minute?" George asked, unable to help himself. "Here you go, this'll make it easier" he added, and with a flick of his wand, a bed materialized in thin air in front of the two of them. Ron's mouth fully dropped in anger and horror. He let go of Hermione and leapt over the bed, clearing it easily with his long legs, and launched himself at George. Hermione couldn't help it; she clasped her hands to her mouth and gasped. Mrs. Weasley rushed over to attempt to break the two of them up, and Percy called over the din, "Oh fine, just forget about me, it's not like I'm getting _married_ or anything."

It took Bill, Charlie, and Mr. Weasley to pull George and Ron apart, the latter of whom was trying to punch every single part of George he could get. When he had finally been restrained, the look on his face was murderous, and George, who now had a brilliantly purple black eye, wore an identical expression. The only person who looked worse off was Harry, who had grown very pale at the sight of the bed; clearly the presence of it was too close to home for him.

Once Ron's nosebleed had been stemmed and George's eye had returned to normal, they departed for the house, now very late. There was the option of Floo Powder, which Ginny opted for, but Hermione felt that it would be prudent to stay away from travel by fireplace, especially after their last encounter. Hermione took Ron's hand as they Disapparated, feeling the familiar pull towards nothing.

When she could breathe again, she opened her eyes to examine the place where Percy and Audrey would soon become married. Audrey had not done it justice; the house was beautiful. It was an old Victorian, its white turrets breaking the sky, the ornate details visible even from far away. But the house itself was not, if possible, even comparable to the setting around it. The grounds were covered in some of the most beautiful flowers Hermione had ever seen, so achingly stunning that they seemed to come from dreams; they could not possibly be real.

Ron let out a low whistle under his breath and Hermione laughed softly. Before she could say anything, they were accompanied by several popping sounds as other members of the Weasley family appeared out of thin air. Mrs. Weasley began bustling around at once; it was already half past four and guests were supposed to be arriving at five, they were _very_ off schedule.

Hermione did not see Ron for the next half hour; Mrs. Weasley whipped her away to take care of wedding catastrophes and fix eleventh-hour details. Ten minutes after they arrived at Audrey's house, Audrey came by Floo Powder; she had not traveled with the rest of them because she did not want Percy to see her. Once Audrey arrived everything was a swarm of white tulle, flowers, and loud, anxious voices that were on the brink of hysterics. Hermione didn't have a moment to try and find Ron. She regretted this because she desperately wanted to talk to him about the scene in the living room.

Ginny did not leave her side; Hermione suspected this was because she was avoiding Harry, who was on duty making sure that Ron would not get his hands on George again. George had gotten over the shock of Ron's reaction to the appearing bed, and now found it extremely amusing, which meant that he was likely to do it again.

It had just reached five when the first guest arrived. Mrs. Weasley, who had been making last-minute adjustments to Audrey's dress, jumped at the sounds of people Apparating, though thankfully, Audrey's dress was spared. Audrey stayed in the room while Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, and Hermione all left to help downstairs in the garden. In the doorway, Hermione paused and looked at Audrey, who was very pale-faced.

"You look really nice," she told her somewhat awkwardly. It seemed to do the right thing, Audrey looked up happily, examining herself in the mirror much in the same way Hermione had done hours before.

"Really? Thank you," Audrey said, still smiling at the compliment. Hermione smiled too, happy that she could help.

After a rather awkward pause, Hermione smiled fleetingly again and left the room, closing the door behind her. She navigated her way through the silk-covered walls and ornately carved banisters until she finally managed to make her way out of the house. She found Ron standing at the front door.

"Ron!" she said, surprised; he was supposed to be seating guests. "What are you doing here, I thought you were supposed to be showing people to their seats?" she asked.

"I was waiting for you," Ron said, his ears turning a little red. Hermione felt her stomach flip at his words. "I thought we could go down together," he said quietly, and she smiled, feeling her cheeks grow warm.

"I'd like that," she said softly, and he smiled too. Then, he extended his arm, and she took it, daintily resting her hand on his forearm, not sure if he were joking or not. They set out for the garden together, both feeling a confused mix of amusement, embarrassment, and pleasure at what had just happened.

When they reached the garden, Hermione's mouth actually dropped open in shock; it was one of the most beautiful places she had ever seen. The garden had been transformed into an enchanted world, it was the thing little girls dream about, a place only found in the depth of sleep. The trees were covered in enchanted snow which didn't seem to melt in the August heat. Little lights were glittering out of bushes, flowers, and trees, though there was know known source of what they were. Hermione thought they looked like stars caught as they fell to earth. In the middle of the garden was a large open green, where white chairs had been placed to face a center stage-like object, where Percy and Audrey would become married.

"It's so beautiful," Hermione said in a hushed voice, because in a place like this, it seemed as though loud voices could not be allowed.

Ron nodded, lowering his arm so that he was now holding her hand. "This puts Bill and Fleur's wedding to shame. When I get married, it's going to look like this," Ron declared. There was a very awkward pause as the two of them digested what Ron had just said. Hermione felt her heart flutter as she wondered what – or really, who – he imagined at his wedding. Thankfully, Harry walked over to them, unknowingly rescuing them from the discomfort.

"It looks good, doesn't it?" Harry asked them, and Hermione could hear the false happiness he was forcing into his voice. She tried to give him a sympathetic look, but he was staring adamantly at the glittering tree in front of him, as if by staring at it for long enough, he would stop feeling so miserable.

George, who was also supposed to be seating guests, walked over to the three of them, leaving a long line of people at the front of the garden. Hermione felt Ron's hand grip hers tighter as George pushed pass the masses of people trying to get to their seats without guidance.

"Hi," Hermione said softly, trying to tell him that she had forgiven him for the mean joke with the bed. George nodded, and Hermione thought that he understood.

"Hello," George said, clapping Ron on the back and punching Harry lightly on the shoulder. "Just came by to say hello, I wasn't doing anything anyways," he said, as Mrs. Weasley screamed for him to seat guest. He seemed not to hear her.

"Ah," said Harry, at a loss of words. George had clearly gotten to the Firewisky early, and no one knew what to say to him. Mrs. Weasley came over and dragged George away, yelling at him as she did so, but her voice was barely heard over the din of guests, who were now seating themselves.

The three stood in quiet until Harry suggested that they find their seats. Harry and Ron, who were not in the wedding, made their way into the crowd of people, Ron letting go of her hand rather reluctantly. Ginny, who had appeared at Hermione's side the moment Harry had left, suggested that they find Mrs. Weasley. Hermione nodded at the idea, and felt herself shivering out of nerves; she had never been in a wedding before.

Mrs. Weasley stood at the entrance to the garden, holding two small bouquets for Ginny and Hermione. Once they had been sorted out, Mrs. Weasley patted each girl on the cheek and rushed off to find her seat. Hermione was breathing rather quickly now, soon the eyes of two hundred people would be on her.

Then, the music started, and it was the most heartbreakingly beautiful music Hermione had ever heard, it seemed to come from the garden itself. Ginny looked and Hermione and Hermione nodded. Slowly, they began to make their way down the isle, which seemed to stretch on forever with no visible end.

Hermione found Ron in the crowd of people, his red hair still sticking up on end. She tried to keep a straight face, and then his eyes met hers. Her pulse seemed to come to stop as her heart stopped beating. In his eyes were love, and a promise.

When they reached the raised platform where Percy stood with Bill, his best man, the two girls stood opposite, waiting for Audrey. There was a gasp, as if the guests were really only one person, as Audrey began walking down the isle, her cheeks flushed with happiness, a small smile playing at her lips. Hermione smiled at Audrey's raw bliss, and felt another jolt of happiness when she realized that Ron was not looking at Audrey at all; he was looking at her.

The ceremony passed by in a blur of tears (Audrey and Mrs. Weasley) and exchanged words. Hermione barely noticed that everyone was clapping; the wedding was over. Starting at the loud sound, she jumped a little, blinking to return to the garden. Ron was waiting for her at the edge of the platform, a rather foolish grin on his face. Harry seemed to have melted into the crowd. Hermione stepped down, and gasped. The chairs had all disappeared and turned into a midnight blue dance floor was spreading under her feet, the deep blue looked like the ocean gone solid. Ron grinned down at her.

"This is perfect, now I don't even have to ask you to dance; we're already here," he exclaimed, taking her hand in his.

"Oh, but you're so good at asking me, aren't you? Remember at Bill's wedding, it was so eloquent, I think it was 'come and dance with me, Hermione' wasn't it?" she teased, putting her arm on his chest.

"I forget the details, here," he said, stepping away from her. "Hermione will, you _please_ dance with me?" he asked, and she laughed.

"Well, at least that was a question, yes, I will," she said, and he laughed, taking her hand in his once more and sliding his other hand to her lower back as she placed hers on his chest.

The music swelled as they danced, and Hermione lost track of the time. Had it been an hour? Or maybe three? All she could see was Ron looking at her in the same way he had when she had walked down the isle. It made her brain go fuzzy with joy, and her fingers went numb so that she could barely feel his hand in hers.

Hermione was just starting to register that her feet felt like they were going to sever from her body when Ron lowered his hand and said, "Do you want to take a walk? I can't dance anymore," and she laughed, agreeing.

His hand still in hers, they wove past other people dancing around them. They passed Audrey and Percy, who looked happier than Hermione could remember, and George, who seemed to be dancing with at least two girls at once. Bill was dancing with Ginny, who was trying to look happy, and Charlie was dancing by himself, oblivious to how strange it must look.

When they finally reached the garden, Ron groaned in relief and Hermione giggled, kicking off her shoes. Then, simultaneously, as if they had planned it, they both collapsed in the grass. Hermione's head landed on Ron's chest and his leg was on top of hers. Hermione giggled and her head bobbed up and down as Ron laughed too. There did not seem to be one reason to their happiness, but rather, countless ones, too many to name. All Hermione knew was that she was happy and, for once, nothing seemed to have gone wrong.

After a while, their laughter died down. Hermione turned over so that her chin was on Ron's chest, and her body was pressed into the soft, dry grass. Her face was less than an inch away from him, and he put his hands behind his head, so that they were on the same level. Slowly, gently, she kissed him, her breath running away from her at the feel of him under her.

From somewhere nearby, there was a rustling sound as two other guests snuck off into the bushes. Ron and Hermione jumped apart, alarmed, and Hermione stood up, looking around wildly at the source of the noise. Ron was still sitting, looking dazed and as though he would not be able to stand up.

After a few minutes, Ron tested his legs to see if he could stand again. They made their way further into the garden. The twinkling stars seemed to be heavier now, they shone from every plant and every flower. It was as though they were standing in the middle of a galaxy.

They reached a small clearing in the garden, which was surrounded by glittering trees, their leaves dancing merrily in the cool summer breeze. Hermione felt her hair, which was starting to come undone, play softly around her shoulders.

The clearing was small, a bit smaller than Ron's office. Hermione could feel the soft grass under her bare feet. All around them were the stars caught in the branches. It was not in the least bit claustrophobic, it was magic in a way Hermione could not reproduce. Ron looked around, sighing.

"It really is beautiful," Hermione said, moving a little closer to him. Ron nodded in agreement, and he in turn moved closer to her, his face alit with the stars. Hermione wondered if they knew what they were doing, or if they were just drawn to one another by a force neither of them knew.

He was not standing so close to her, she could have counted the freckles that mapped his face. His eyes were searching hers and she looked up at him, though she did not know what answers they were looking for. Before she could ask, he was kissing her, his lips softly parting hers as she melted into him.

Hermione did not think that they were still at the wedding; surely they were not in a place as mundane as that. With the stars around them, caught in the leaves of the trees, caught in the sky above them, Hermione felt as if they had left the world. Ron's hands ran up her back as hers went through his messy hair. She pressed her body against his, as if physical closeness could not satisfy. She heard him moan softly at the feel of her, and she felt her heart flutter at the perfect sound.

When they broke apart, racing for air as their chests rose and fell rapidly, Hermione could only see Ron. His eyes were alight, with love and with that promise, that intoxicating, wonderful promise.

_Author's Note: I'm sorry… this chapter took longer to write than I had planned; I had writer's block. I'm still not sure if I love it, but I decided to post it and see what people think. If it's really not good, than I'll edit accordingly. I'm fairly happy with it, but it was really hard to write. Also, I was wondering if you (the reader) think this is getting too fluffy? I've been getting some comments on that…if it's too much I'll tone it down. I've planned the next chapter out in my head, so hopefully - I think my writer's block is eradicated - I'll have the next chapter by the end of the week. Anyways, reviews would be fantastic!_


	21. Beautiful

_Author's Note: Thank you for all of your reviews, I tried to take all of your comments and incorporate them into the chapter. I hope you all like it! _

_P.S: before anyone protests, the drinking age in England is below eighteen (Wikipedia said 16 to drink alcohol, 18 to buy it), therefore it is entirely legal for most of the main characters to drink. However, if there is some law that I have missed or something like that (I did use Wikipedia, and it's not always entirely reliable) please tell me, the last thing I am advocating is under-aged drinking._

~*~

Chapter Twenty-One

As the deep velvety night wore on, the laughter, music, and dancing seemed only to grow louder and more fervent; midnight had come and gone, but no one seemed to have noticed. Ron and Hermione emerged from their wooded hideaway after a few hours, and from the expressions they received, their absence had not gone without notice. Harry and Ginny had disappeared, and Hermione hoped with all of her might that they had wherever they were, they were together.

Ron and Hermione chose a secluded table away from the crowd where they would not draw as much attention. This plan was rather vain; no amount of hiding in the shadows would stop people from coming over and shaking their hands. Hermione grinned at Ron, who seemed to be enjoying all of this. He had spent such a long time watching with envy as Harry got attention, and he was relishing his own.

Ginny and Harry skulked back to the party a few hours after Ron and Hermione returned, spotting their table and taking seats opposite Ron and Hermione. Hermione gave Ginny a meaningful look, and Ginny nodded, her grin barely concealed. Harry was looking happier than he had all day, and he leaned back, putting his arm around the back of Ginny's chair. Hermione breathed out a sigh of relief; the longer they fought, the harder it would have been to prevent Ron from knowing anything. And besides, it was a relief to have the two of them happy again.

The party began to wind down at around two in the morning, which Hermione was extremely thankful for; she was resting her head, which seemed to weigh much more than it normally did, on Ron's shoulder. Her eyes were slowly drooping shut as she struggled to keep them open. Ginny was out cold, her head on the table, her hair spread around her like fire. Harry was blinking sleepily at the candle in front of them, his eyes seeing nothing. George, who by this time had consumed quite a lot of Firewisky, was rambunctiously dancing with Charlie, who had drunk even more than George. Bill and Fleur had long since gone home. Percy and Audrey were cuddled together at a far table, saying goodbye to guests as they Apparated just beyond the garden fence.

Though they had originally planned on Apparating back to the Burrow, Hermione knew that they were all too tired to do that safely, and she was infinitely grateful for Audrey suggesting they all stay at her house. The manor certainly had enough bedrooms, and it was highly convenient. It seemed to take a great deal of effort to stand up and make their way back to the house, Hermione leaned heavily on Ron as she staggered up to the house.

Ginny and Hermione were assigned a bedroom on the second floor. Hermione half-dragged, half-pulled the semiconscious Ginny to the bedroom, which was a large rectangle with two high beds. They didn't look nearly as comfortable as the bed in Shell Cottage, but Hermione did not care; she was so tired, she could have slept on the floor. Without bothering to take off their dresses, the two girls climbed into bed. Hermione was asleep before she even had a chance to pull the blankets around her.

***

The early morning sun shone through a chink in the thick curtains that hid floor-length windows. Hermione blinked sleepily, and looked around, slightly confused. She had forgotten, for a moment, where exactly she was and how she had gotten to be there. She looked down at the beautiful midnight blue dress that was twisted around her, and at the blankets she had had not managed to pull over her. She glanced to her left, where Ginny still lay sleeping, her arm draped over the side of the bed with the rest of her body threatening to follow.

There was a soft knock on the door as Mrs. Weasley came in with two breakfast trays. Hermione sat up, resting comfortably on the pillows as Mrs. Weasley gently shook Ginny awake. Ginny woke with a shout, sitting upright quickly and knocking over the tray Mrs. Weasley had set carefully on the end of her bed. Mrs. Weasley whipped out her wand and hastily repaired the damage Ginny had managed to make while Hermione hid her face, trying not to laugh.

"Thank you for the breakfast, you really didn't have to," Hermione told her when she thought it was safe to talk and her voice would not give.

Mrs. Weasley smiled kindly at her, "Dear, you've been such a help with all of this, I don't think I could have done it all without you," she said, and Hermione felt herself blush. Ginny was staring at her tray, as if she was not sure why she had gotten one too. Mrs. Weasley blinked back happily at Hermione for several minutes as Hermione felt her face bypass pink and go directly to red. After what seemed like an hour, Mrs. Weasley started a little and made to leave. In the doorway she paused, as if she wanted to say something, but seemed to think better of it and left, closing the door softly behind her.

Ginny was still looking nonplussed. "I still don't understand why I got a tray too, I didn't do _anything_," she said to Hermione, bringing the tray closer to her and pouring a glass of orange juice.

Hermione laughed, "She must have thought you'd get angry if she made me breakfast and didn't make it for you. But now you've learned your lesson, you'll help her with the next wedding, won't you?"

Ginny grumbled in response, but did not say anything else. After a few minutes there was another knock at the door, this one louder and less patient. Ginny called through a mouthful of toast that they could come in. The heavy door swung open as Harry and Ron appeared, both pale-faced and looking as though they had just woken up. Like the two girls, they were still in their clothes from the night before.

"That's not fair, they got breakfast already; Mum said it won't be ready for another half hour!" Ron exclaimed at the two of them, bounding across the room to Hermione's bed and sitting comfortably on it while helping himself to her sausage.

"Mum made Hermione breakfast because she helped with the wedding, and I got some because she thought I'd be jealous," Ginny said, patting the bed next to her so that Harry, who was looking rather hesitant, could sit down. He did not accept the invitation, but rather pulled a chair from the ornate desk in the corner of the room over and sat on that instead. Ginny's smile faltered a little at this, but she did not say anything aloud. Hermione looked back and forth between the two of them, waiting for something that did not happen.

The rest of the day was spent cleaning up the remnants of the wedding; they had been too exhausted the night before to do any tidying, and now the scene spread in front of them like a storm-wreck. There were plates and cutlery littering the grass, tables set at odd angles by guests who had wanted to sit somewhere private. Food was discarded around the lawn, and chairs were lying on their sides. Mrs. Weasley, as always, marshaled them through the day, ordering groups of people to fix certain things, until, by the end of the day, no one would have known that there had been a wedding the night before.

Everyone was making arrangements to return to the Burrow, including Ginny and Harry. Ginny had approached Hermione late in the afternoon to inform her that she and Harry would be spending a few days at the Burrow. She told Hermione that their problems had started there, and they needed to be there to fix them. Hermione did not challenge this seemingly illogical reasoning, but nodded as her blood ran faster. She and Ron would be alone again.

The two said goodbye to the other Weasleys and Harry as the sun began to sink below the trees, which were now cleared of their magical snow, the stars untangled from their branches. Mrs. Weasley had shoved a large basket full of food into Hermione's arms, which she now held tightly so that it would not get lost in Apparition.

When they appeared on the cliff in front of Shell Cottage, a cool breeze whipping at their faces, Hermione felt her heart tug as she realized, looking up at the cottage in front of her, that this was now the place she called home. In only a few short weeks the small whitewashed walls had become a different sort of place, because it had memories associated with it that the Burrow and Hogwarts did not house.

As the sun slowly drowned in the sea beyond, Hermione took out ingredients to make dinner; they had not eaten since lunch, and Ron was already loudly complaining that he was hungry. Setting the packages of food around her on the counter, she searched around the cabinets until she found a cookbook. Ron sat on the counter next to her, swinging his longs legs and pretending to be helpful.

"You missed a step," he said after several long minutes of Hermione cutting vegetables and putting them in the big metal bowl in front of her.

Hermione glanced down at the recipe in front of her. "No I didn't; I've done it all," she said, reading it a third time to make sure.

"Yeah, you did, you didn't do that last part," Ron said, leaning over to look at the page in front of her.

"Yes, I did!" she retorted, pulling it away from him.

"Oh, really? Because the last line says you're supposed to add salt and you didn't," Ron said smugly, holding the saltshaker in his hand.

Hermione's mouth dropped open; he was right. But she wasn't going to give up that easily, "I – I added it," she said, trying to save face. "You must have missed it," she said, sticking her chin up.

Ron raised an eyebrow. "I did not! You didn't do something right, admit it! You didn't do something perfectly for the first time in your life!" he said, challenging her. He was wearing a tantalizing smile, but his ears were growing red, a clear sign that he was bothered.

Hermione felt her face grow hot. "I didn't do it wrong! I was going to add it… I was!" she shouted, actually stamping her foot in frustration.

"You weren't!" he shouted back.

"I was!"

"No, you weren't," he said, his maddeningly smug face swimming in her line of vision.

"Fine!" she screamed. "Fine, if you're so clever do it yourself! Let's see you cook Ron! Let's see you make three meals a day, and do it right every single time! I'd love to see that, I'd love to see you try," she said, reaching the level of hysterics. And without thinking, she took the bowl full of freshly cut vegetables and dumped it onto the ground. Peppers and potatoes and onions spilled everywhere, a beautiful mess.

The two of them looked down, both of them shocked at what she had done. Wordlessly, Ron got off the counter and left the room, his eyes dark, his ears a very bright shade of red. Hermione felt her blood pounding through her head, so heavy that her vision was foggy. Her emotions guided her as she bent down and picked up a diced potato. With all of her might, she threw it at the back of Ron's head.

Ron whipped around; it had not hurt, but it had surprised him. "Hey! What the bloody hell was that for?" he said, his hand on the back of his head.

Hermione did not say anything; in truth, she had no answer for him. They stared at each other from across the kitchen; the silence stretching on between them, the only sound in the room was the rush of the sea and their breath, coming faster in their anger. Hermione was standing in the middle of their dinner, her arms crossed, her chin pointed up, and her hip jutted out to one side. Ron stood in the doorway, his hand still on his head, and his mouth still open in shock.

And then, Ron's face broke into a grin. Hermione's mouth dropped open in a mix of anger and disgust; she was still angry, he had no business smiling. He leaned against the doorframe and smiled a little, and Hermione felt her heart jump in her chest. She was so confused; she did not know what to do.

"We're bickering," he said finally, tilting his head a little to look at her. And Hermione understood. They had bickered and fought ever since they had met; it was just something they did. But in the last few weeks, when everything had been new and fragile and different, they had abstained; they did not want to see everything shatter around them, wrecking what they had worked on for so long.

"We're bickering," she echoed him, a smile slowly starting on her face as well. As strange as it sounded, she had missed the constant banter between the two of them, which always seemed to run fresh ever since they had met. He would purposely say something to set her off and she would counter back, just so he could do it again. It was a game they had played, both because they enjoyed getting a rise out of the other, and because they knew that if they stopped, they would cease to become…well, what they were. Once upon a time they had fought because they did not want to admit that they indeed liked one another, in a way they did not want to face. But now, with what they had set clearly in front of them, an infallible structure, the bickering was only a quirk, a thing that made them Ron and Hermione.

"We're bickering!" she shouted, feeling slightly stupid for saying it again. Ron laughed and dropped his hand from his head just in time to raise his arms as she ran into them. They stood there, embracing, shaking with laughter.

"I missed that, the fighting," she said, feeling Ron's head on top of hers.

"Me too, and I like it better now," Ron said. She pulled away slightly so that she could see him. She furrowed her eyebrows, not understanding his last words.

"It's so much better making up now," Ron clarified, putting his hand on the side of her face. "Because now, I can do this," he said, leaning in and kissing her softly on the lips. Hermione felt herself unwind before she broke away.

"You don't get off that easily, you know. _And_ you have to make dinner," she said, barely holding back her smile as he groaned.

"I know," he sighed, dropping his arms from around her waist and resuming her place at the counter. With a small swish of his wand, he cleaned up the vegetables she had spilled and started from the beginning. She took his position on the counter, banging her heels into the cabinet behind her and watching him cook. She liked how the small muscles in his arms moved as he cut up chicken, and how his hair flopped over his eyes as he bent over to read the next line of the recipe. Her eyes devoured the soft curve of his neck, and the care he put into every movement he made.

"You forgot something, you forgot something," she'd say jokingly in a light sing-song voice every few minutes, to which he'd respond with a mock hurt expression.

The sun had long since set by the time dinner was ready. Hermione opened a drawer to take out plates, but Ron put his hand on the handle, preventing her from opening it. She looked up, her eyes questioning him.

"You know what? I don't really feel like eating at the table," he said.

She opened her mouth to ask what exactly he had planned, but he grinned, conjuring a blanket from his wand and laying it out on the kitchen floor. With another flick, two plates soared out of the drawer she was about to open and set themselves neatly on the blanket. She looked at him, her eyebrow's furrowed.

"You want to eat on the floor?" she asked him slowly, as if he had lost his mind. Ron nodded, grinning, and she shook her head.

He set out forks and cups for the two of them and proudly carried what he had made to Hermione, who was sitting on the blanket. With the air of slaving over it all day, he served for the two of them and sat back to watch as Hermione took a bite.

It was awful. It took all of her personal strength not to screw up her face in disgust or cough out whatever she had just put in her mouth. She held her breath as she swallowed, though the horrible taste stayed, no matter how hard she tried to get rid of it. Her throat burned a little and she tried to blink back the tears that had forced their way into her eyes. Ron was watching her, his eyes deep and bright with hope.

"Well?" he asked her, "How is it?"

Hermione cleared her throat, "Really good," she forced out, not meeting his eyes. She looked up just in time to see him grinning broadly.

"Really?" he asked, and she nodded, because she did not think she would be able to lie to him twice.

He took a bite as well, and Hermione watched as he gagged and spit it out into his napkin, his face screwed up in pain. "Why did you lie to me? It's bloody awful! How did you even swallow that?" he cried, taking his glass of water and downing it in one gulp.

Hermione laughed softly, "I didn't want to hurt your feelings," she told him, and his face was even happier than it had been when she had told him that she liked it.

"I'm sorry, now there's nothing to eat," he said, looking down at his plate, "Even _I_ can't eat that," he laughed, standing up and scraping his full plate into the sink. He bent down and took hers before she could even stand up.

"Now what do we do?" she asked, slumping so that her back was leaning against the cabinets behind her. Ron sat back down again, his face crumpled; the romantic night he had wanted was crashing down around him. It almost hurt Hermione to see him look so defeated.

"I have an idea," she said, answering her own question. She rummaged around on the top shelf before she found what she was looking for: a bottle of wine. Before she sat down again, she turned down the kitchen lights so that the room was bathed in a bronze glow, the shadows covering the corners like a whisper. Ron looked up at her, his eyes bright.

When she sat down, she did not sit opposite him, like she had been before, but beside him, her back pressed into the wall behind the two of them. The small space of air between them seemed to be alive, buzzing with apprehension and expectations.

"Oh, I forgot glasses," she said, looking at the bottle in her hands. She made to stand up again, but he put a hand on her wrist.

"It's fine," he said, uncorking the bottle he looked into it, slightly suspicious. "You know, the last time I drank something like this I nearly died," he said.

Hermione's breath caught as she remembered. "Well, this one isn't poisoned, I promise," she said.

He laughed softly and took a sip. He paused, as if waiting for something to happen. When it didn't, he laughed again and handed it to her. She took a sip and handed it back to him, feeling the warmth of it spread to her toes the second it reached her tongue.

The silver light of the moon reflecting off the water mixed with the dark bronze of the room, creating a ghostly sort of glow. As the bottle of wine slowly emptied, the two became closer and closer until their faces were almost touching. Slowly, Ron tilted his head forward and their lips met. Hermione felt his arms move down her back, quicker than they had ever done before.

She felt the cool air on her back as Ron lifted her shirt over her head. She reached for the end of his shirt and pulled it off, so that they were once again facing each other, their bare torsos soaking in the strange light. When they kissed again, there was something strange between the two of them, something palpable.

Maybe it was because of the wine, but Hermione felt an intoxicating thought leak into her head, consuming her. She tried to push it out and let the feel of Ron take over, but she couldn't. She broke away, ignoring the confused look on Ron's face. Slowly, she took his hands out of her hair and brought them to the waist of her jeans. Ron's eyes grew wide, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hair.

"Hermione…" he said slowly, but she made a soft shushing sound; words would have broken whatever what was here in front of them.

She nodded, an invitation, and felt all the air leave her chest as Ron fumbled with the waist of her jeans until he was finally able to rid her of them. Then, with the same trembling fingers, he took off his own, throwing them to the side in a heap.

They had never done this before. As scary and foreign as it was, it felt perfectly right. She had known Ron for more than half of her life; she had known his freckled face, his red hair, his long arms. But this, this was different. They did not know this part of each other; they had thought about it, they had pictured it, but finally, they were here. Hermione felt Ron's eyes gaze longingly at her, and she knew how long he had been waiting for this.

Hermione stood up and Ron followed her. She wondered fleetingly how strange they must look, standing more than half-naked in the middle of a kitchen. But then, she didn't care anymore because Ron was so close, his eyes so deep, that every trace of another thought was gone. She felt the cold wall behind her as she pressed her back against it, and Ron slowly, gently, kissed her neck, making another trail to her lips. She pressed her body into his; the feel of his skin on hers sent a shivery feeling up and down her back. She could feel Ron shake as her bare thigh touched his.

When they broke apart, Ron's eyes traced the contours of her body, stopping at the curve above her bra and the flat strip of skin that ran along the line of her underwear. She in turn watched the muscles in his chest rise and fall as he breathed and as she thought how different it was this time, seeing him with almost nothing on.

After a few shaky moments, Ron let out what seemed to be a lifetime of air. He shook his head and Hermione held her breath, waiting for what he was going to say. She had never felt so exposed, so bare, so vulnerable.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, the words traveling through the glow of the night. Hermione smiled. It was not 'you _look_ beautiful,' but 'you _are_ beautiful,' which made all of the difference in the world. She wanted to tell him that no one had ever told her this in that way, or how much it meant to her. But she did not think there were enough words in the world to say it, and she could not possibly find the right ones.

Instead, she jumped into his arms, hooking her legs around his waist as she pushed her hair out of her face and leaned in to kiss him. She felt his arms on her back, holding her as if she weighed nothing at all. His breath was shallow as she parted his lips, and she knew that he could hear her, he could hear what was pulsing through her veins, what was beating in her heart. She could not tell him everything she wanted to, but she could make him understand.

~*~

_Author's Note: Ugh, I hate writer's block. You can probably tell but from the wine to the end of the chapter, I was totally stuck. I was literally staring at the computer screen waiting for something to come. And I thought it would be easy because I wanted to write the chapter! Anyways, I got this part out but I don't know how I feel about it. _

_A few notes about the chapter: I wanted to address some of the reviewer's requests, so I added Ron and Hermione fighting (don't know how I feel about it…it was over salt, but they usually fight over stupid things) as well as the two of them taking another step. Was it enough?_

_Also, about Harry and Ginny – I'm not a huge shipper for the two of them, but I imagine their relationship would be a bit volatile; they're both strong-minded. So, I had them make up, but there are hints that everything is not perfect._

_Anyways, reviews would be amazing!!_


	22. One Step Backward, Two Steps Forward

_Author's Note: Thank you for all of the reviews, happy reading!!_

_Also, thank you very much to the wonderful reviewer ErinFabu who kindly pointed out a mistake of mine. I was thinking of the movies with the whole "half-of-their-lives" thing. I _can_ do math; I know what half of eighteen is, it was a stupid mistake and I'll go back and fix it. Sorry!_

~*~

Chapter Twenty-Two:

The summer slowly leaked into autumn, the green trees turning magnificent shades of red and orange and yellow. Mornings showed the pale shadows of winter as the weather outside the big windows at Shell Cottage got cooler and the sea turned a steely grey of winter. Harry and Ginny had returned to the Burrow a week after the wedding, their problems seemingly fixed. Ron and Hermione had enjoyed the peaceful private; they had spent their days of solitude together, abstaining from kissing only to bicker, which felt wonderfully familiar.

Ron had returned to working at George's shop and Ginny had returned to training. Hermione had never fully appreciated how being bad at Quidditch was actually a good thing; Ginny would come home every evening, her cheeks pink from the wind, her teeth chattering from the cold that seemed to seep into her bones and refuse to leave. Hermione spent most of her time with her parents, with Harry, or reading. She might be not be starting work for a few months, but she was compulsively studying. A few months to any other person was mere hours to her; she had gotten every book on Elf Rights and magical animal rights in general, and was devouring them at the pace of roughly two books a day. This was a source of humor to Harry, who lounged in the living room as she poured over books, muttering to herself, committing things to memory.

One morning in late October, the four were sitting down for breakfast when they heard a familiar scratching sound at the window; it was an owl with a letter clamped tightly in its talons. Ron jumped from the table to rescue the poor creature from the relentless wind, which had whipped the cottage since the beginning of the month. It crashed to the table sending cereal and jugs of juice flying, its large globular eyes glazed with exhaustion.

"Poor thing," Ginny said sympathetically, "It had to fly here in this weather, it looks beat," she said, offering the owl some water from her cup. The bird drank thankfully before ruffling its feathers and heading back into the stormy weather.

Ron seemed not to have noticed the proceedings; he was standing near the window, the letter in his hand. His eyes, however, were not reading words, but rather staring at a fixed point in the middle of the piece of parchment.

Hermione hastened to his side, realizing that this was a bad omen. Gently, she took the piece of paper out of his hands and held it out so that the other two could read it. Hermione's eyes passed by the lines of neat script, her brain only registering a fraction of what was in front of her. _"Hogwarts will be starting later this year than it has in previous years…before the new term commences, we will be holding a ceremony, both to welcome students and to remember those who will not walk through the halls…we would like you to come for the memorial…it would be an honor if any of you would say a few words, nothing formal…"_

Hermione glanced up at the others to see how they were handling the letter. She glanced at the familiar signature of Professor McGonagall before rolling the letter back up and holding it tightly in her fist. She was sure that the others were experiencing the icy chill of memories slipping through their brains. Go back to the castle? Relive everything – everything they had overcome in the last few months – again? Speak to everyone, and pretend to be strong, pretend to rise above it all?

Ron had sat back down again, his eyes still looking as though he was in another place, somewhere far away, beyond the cliff and the sea. Harry was thinking, his eyes lowered, his eyebrows furrowed. Ginny's expression was hardened, and Hermione knew she was trying not to be as affected by what she had read than she really was.

"Who was the letter addressed to?" Harry said quietly to the silent room. Hermione unrolled the furl of paper, surprised; she had not even thought to ask the question. On the other side of the letter was the careful script, the spindly letters spelling out _Mr. Harry Potter, Mr. Ronald Weasley, and Miss Hermione Granger._

"The three of us," she answered, and immediately felt bad for phrasing it in that way; it made Ginny feel left out. She hadn't done it on purpose; for a long time it _had_ been the three of them. Ginny crossed her arms and walked to the doorway before Hermione could try and take back what she had said.

"Well," Ginny said loftily, "I'll let you three talk this over, seeing as I'm not included in this as well," and she left the room. Harry did not try and chase after her; he already knew that his attempts to make her feel better would be fruitless.

Hermione sat back down at the kitchen table and Harry followed her. She reached over and put her hand gently on top of Ron's; his face was very pale and his eyes glinted a little, brighter than they normally would.

"I didn't think about ever going back," Hermione said softly, voicing what she knew the other two were thinking. She had been scared of the castle; it was one of the reasons why she had chosen not to go back to school. But now, with this memorial service looming in front of her, the school was once again thrust in front of her, an object she did not know how to dodge.

"We have to go," Ron whispered, and he gripped Hermione's hand, as if holding onto something would make this truth less painful. "It – it's going to be hard, but we have to, everyone will expect us to," he said, his voice cracking a little.

Harry nodded. "It was stupid to think they wouldn't do something like this, we should have known, we should have prepared for it," and he sounded angry, as if this were his fault for being surprised by the letter. She wanted to reach over and give him a reassuring gesture, and he seemed to sense this. He shifted in his seat so that she could not reach him, and Hermione lowered her arm, feeling slightly hurt.

Hermione raised her eyes to look at Harry. "Are you going to say something?" she asked him loudly, as if what had just happened had not occured at all. She had said this to clear the uncomfortable air between them; she knew what he would say.

Harry nodded. "Yes, I need to. I need to talk to them," he said, his voice louder and stronger. He stood up from the table and pushed in his chair. The noise sounded loud, unrealistic. "I have to find Ginny, I need to talk to her, before she does something…illogical" he said, and he left the kitchen.

Now it was just Ron and Hermione, the only sound between them was the rattling of the window as the wind beat down on it. When Ron finally looked at her, his eyes were set, determined. They had lost the glassy look, now there was only strength beneath the blue.

"Hermione, I want to say something there, at the memorial," Ron said, and Hermione was surprised. She did not think he would have wanted to. He had lost his brother there; if Hermione was in his place, she wondered what she would have done, how she would react.

"But," Ron said, interrupting her thoughts. "If – if I say something, will you…will you stand up there with me?" he asked, his voice broken with shame, the humiliation that he could not stand up there alone.

Hermione felt tears, cool and wet, run out of the corner of her eyes and down her cheek. "Of course," she whispered, "Of course I will, Ron." She hated herself for succumbing to tears, it made her feel slightly weak. She pushed them away angrily, biting her lip to keep herself from emitting any noise. Ron seemed to sense her struggle, he looked up to see her shining eyes. Slowly, much more gently than she had, he reached over and traced his thumb across her cheekbone, taking away her tears.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, their hands clasped between them, both thinking about what was going to happen, and how they would live through it, and they would live through it together.

Harry returned with Ginny, their hands woven together, all trace of anger wiped from her eyes. She looked at the two of them sitting at the table. There was a slightly awkward pause; Hermione did not know what to say to her.

"Ginny, I'm so sorry I…" Hermione started, but Ginny shook her head, braving a smile and unwrapping her fingers from Harry's.

"Don't worry about it, for the first time, I'm kind of glad I'm not the three of you," Ginny said, and Hermione. "It would be hard enough without having to speak. Are you going to do it?" she asked Hermione.

Hermione shook her head. "No, I don't think so, I'll stand with Ron when he does, though," she said. Ginny looked taken aback; she had never had as much faith in Ron as Hermione did, and even Hermione had been slightly surprised. Besides the fact that it would be undoubtably painful for him to talk, Ron was not known as a particularly eloquent speaker.

After a few uncomfortable minutes of Ron glaring at Ginny, daring her to contradict him, Ginny turned away and grabbed her broom from the corner of the room. "Well, I'd love to stay and chat," she joked, "But I have to get to practice, if I'm late, coach will make me practice after the team is done." With a grimace, she turned on the spot and disappeared, Ron snarling at the spot where she had once stood.

Hermione stood up and began clearing the table, which was a mess from the owl. Harry wordlessly helped her as Ron made his way upstairs to change for work. When he thought she wasn't looking, Ron took the letter on the table and slipped it into his pocket.

Once Ron had left for work, Hermione decided to take a day off from studying and go to the Weasley's; she was always welcome. Ever since the wedding, she had begun to really enjoy working with Mrs. Weasley, who put her on what Hermione considered an undeserving pedestal. Besides, there was always plenty of work to do with so many people under its work, and it was nice to get away from her troubles and focus on purely manual work. Harry, who had nothing else to do, decided to accompany her.

As soon as they arrived, Mrs. Weasley showered them with hugs, squeezing Hermione around the waist so tightly she was momentarily winded. Fleur, now nearing six months pregnant, waved to them from the living room couch, which had become her permanent residence.

"It's so nice to see the two of you; to what do I owe the pleasure?" Mrs. Weasley said merrily, tapping her wand so that the kettle on the stove levitated to the sink, filled itself with water, then rested back on the stove and began to boil.

"We just wanted to visit," Harry said, and Hermione nodded. She loved the familiar feel of the Burrow, the smell of the worn out wood and the pictures on the walls, every one she knew by heart.

"Well, I'm glad you two are here, it's been so lonely! With Percy and Audrey on their honeymoon it's been rather quiet," Mrs. Weasley said, and Hermione smiled at how relative 'quiet' was; even with two people gone, the Burrow still housed quite a few people.

"Is there anything we can do, Mrs. Weasley?" Hermione asked eagerly. With the events of the morning still fresh in her mind, she craved something superficial to take her thoughts off of the memorial, even if it was only a respite and it would eventually come back to her.

"Well, if you don't mind, the garden is crawling with gnomes and I still have wedding presents to sort," Mrs. Weasley said, shaking her head. "It was almost two months ago, but it seems as though the pile just won't end, and people are _still_ sending gifts. Luckily I only have a few more, but I've been saying that since the end of September," Mrs. Weasley said, waving her wand again as the kettle began to whistle.

Harry agreed to take care of the gnomes with Charlie, who appeared out of the shed-turned-apartment at the sound of Mrs. Weasley calling for him. Hermione made to go outside and help them, but Mrs. Weasley stopped her, asking her if she would instead help with the wedding gifts. Hermione agreed as her heart began to beat a little quicker; she had sensed that Mrs. Weasley had wanted to talk to her privately for quite a while now.

She followed Ron's mother into Percy's empty bedroom. The floor space was covered in gifts, most of them unwrapped. Mrs. Weasley could have done the job alone, which only added to Hermione's suspicion that she had not been called here only to help.

Wordlessly, she sat down near a pile and began pulling boxes near her. Mrs. Weasley had a very detailed system; gifts had to be recorded down to the sender of the present, and then sorted into various categories ranging from its color to how practical it was.

"Mrs. Weasley?" Hermione asked slowly, hesitant to bring up what was sure to be a rather uncomfortable and emotional conversation. "Did – did you get a letter about…the memorial?"

Mrs. Weasley froze, her arm hovering in midair above a box that held "No-Work Knitting Needles". Hermione felt herself hold in her breath; she and Mrs. Weasley had become closer over the last few months, now more than ever she viewed her as a second mother, but she wondered if there were still some places she could not go.

"Yes, we did, this morning," Mrs. Weasley said slowly, lowering her arm and inspecting the box before putting it into the pile next to her. She was refusing to look at Hermione, who in turn was looking down at her hands.

"We did too," Hermione said quietly, ripping the piece of wrapping paper in her lap until the pattern printed on it was unrecognizable.

"Harry and Ron are going to say something," she continued, and Hermione heard Mrs. Weasley gasp in sadness, clearly holding back her tears.

"Are you going to say something dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, and Hermione was surprised to hear that her voice was steady and strong. She looked up at Mrs. Weasley's face. It was full of remembrance, but she was not crying.

"No," Hermione said slowly, "No, I'm going to stand with Ron when he…when he talks," she said, and she was ashamed, as if she were admitting defeat.

Something other than sadness entered Mrs. Weasley's eyes. "Why aren't you going to say anything?" she asked the girl in front of her.

Hermione paused. "I – I don't…I don't know. I don't think I'd know what to say, and…and…" but she broke off, not sure if she wanted to tell Mrs. Weasley this. "Ron's going to need me, and I want to be there for him."

Mrs. Weasley smiled slightly, "Oh, I see," she said, and Hermione wished she understood as much as Ron's mother seemed to. She had battled back and forth with herself if she should make a speech or not. On the one hand, she did not think she could ever stand up in front of so many people and choke out words that were meant to move them as well as help them feel better. On the other hand, she did not want to just be the girl next to Ron. She did not want to be the consumate girlfriend who stood slightly in the shadows, submissive. She did not want people to think that of her. She had wrestled with the two notions in her head all morning. She had decided that moment, the moment she had told Mrs. Weasley, that the latter of the two was not correct, she was in no way submissive or weak; she would be with him because she knew he needed her to give him strength. There was nothing acquiescent about that.

They went back to sorting presents; all remnants of the conversation seemed to dissipate in the dusty air. The sun rose in the sky so that it shone right through the window, making everything blindingly bright.

The diamond bracelet that hung around Hermione's wrist sent off brilliant sparks of light as the sun shone on it, sending thousands of tiny rainbows into the air. Mrs. Weasley's eyes caught on it, her smile growing, and Hermione knew why.

The bracelet had been a birthday present from Ron. Ever since he had started working at the shop, he had taken to buying unnecessary and sometimes expensive gifts for Hermione. She had protested on several occasions, but he had ignored her every time. For the first time in his life he had money, and enough of it that he could spend it at free will. Hermione knew that he took pleasure in this change, and could not help himself. The bracelet, however, had been something entirely different. It was much more expensive that anything else, and at first she had refused it.

"Ron, really I can't take it," she had told him when he had given the box, which was wrapped so carefully she almost did not want to tear the paper.

Ron had laughed and taken it out of its little velvet case, fastening it on her wrist before she could wriggle away. "Please, Hermione. Take it," he had said.

"But I can't it's much too expensive. It's beautiful and I'm touched that you did this, but please, I can't wear it."

In the end, she had given in because she knew that it would cost Ron more if she refused it than if she kept it, and not in money. Besides, just seeing his face every time she put it on (which was every day as soon as she woke up) was worth it.

"It's beautiful," Mrs. Weasley said, bringing Hermione back to the present. Hermione glanced down at her wrist and smiled; it really was pretty, the most beautiful piece of jewelry she owned, and certainly the piece that meant the most to her.

"Thank you," Hermione said quietly, and she knew the conversation that was about to happen, a conversation she knew Mrs. Weasley had been itching to start ever since she had torn her away from Harry in the kitchen.

"I – I'm so – it's just…it's…" Mrs. Weasley stuttered, and Hermione looked up, confused. She was sure Mrs. Weasley would have burst into a very long monologue about how happy she was that the two of them had woken up and realized what had been in front of them all along.

"I'm just so happy he has you," Mrs. Weasley sobbed, and Hermione jumped up to comfort her, her face alarmed; she had not been expecting so many tears. Conjuring a handkerchief from the end of her wand, she handed it to Mrs. Weasley, who took it thankfully and mopped up her eyes.

After Mrs. Weasley was done crying, Hermione backed away, slightly embarrassed. It was Ron's mother after all, the mother of the boy she slept next to every night, the one who she had seen almost naked. She blushed at the thought of this, and the thought of Mrs. Weasley finding that last part out.

Mrs. Weasley hugged Hermione, who was not expecting it, nearly knocking her over. Hermione staggered back a few steps before regaining her balance and putting her arms around Mrs. Weasley's back, patting her slightly awkwardly.

"I'm just so happy he has you," she kept repeating, and Hermione kept on patting her on the back, trying to console her. It was a very uncomfortable situation, and Hermione was infinitely grateful when Harry knocked on the door and informed them that Fleur needed something.

***

The day of the memorial, the second of November, dawned grey and cloudy, the weather perfectly reflecting the mood of everyone in Shell Cottage. There was the taste of snow on the air; winter was coming early. A deep chill seemed to make its way through the cracks in the whitewashed walls, making everyone even more miserable than they already are.

They ate breakfast in silence, Hermione could not manage any more than tea; Harry's eyes were staring resolutely at his plate; Ginny had not come down to breakfast, when Hermione had seen her early that morning, her eyes had been very puffy and red; and Ron wasn't even trying to eat, a bad sign in itself. No one tried to say anything, and no one really wanted to.

They departed from Shell Cottage earlier than they needed to, partially because they wanted to escape the enclosed space, which seemed to trap their sadness and hold it in. When their feet hit the solid ground, Hermione felt her breath catch and her heart launch itself into her chest. The castle looked the same, though how could it, everything was so different? They had off-shot the castle by a little; Hermione, in her state of nervousness, had not concentrated as hard as she should have, and the four of them ended a bit further away than she had planned.

She took Ron's hand in hers as they made their way to the crowd of people, who were assembling around a large rectangle of chairs near the lake. Most people were standing around, shaking hands and greeting each other. There was an odd feel to the air; a mix of sadness, apprehension, recollection, and excitement.

Before they could reach the crowd of people they were intercepted by a tall, pale-skinned boy, his white-blond hair unpleasantly familiar.

"Malfoy," Harry said, his voice deep, and it sounded like his jaw was clenched. Ron gripped Hermione's hand tightly, and she saw Ginny grab Harry's arm.

"Well, well, well, fancy seeing you here, I suppose you're here to play the heroes again, aren't you?" Malfoy said sneeringly, his cold eyes a mirror of the sky above. He looked oddly lonely without the usual presence of Crabbe and Goyle. Hermione had not realized until now that he was actually quite small. His two school friends had been like an extension, he had seemed larger, more imposing. Now he just looked like a skinny young man who was not quite as tall as Ron; and judging by the look on his face, Malfoy was not pleased with this fact.

"You…" Ron said threateningly, and he took a step forward toward Malfoy, breaking free of Hermione, his hands balled into fists. Hermione, who had been expecting this, reached and grabbed onto his arm, pulling him back.

Malfoy looked between the two of them, his eyes looking maliciously happy. "What a surprise," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Ah well, scum always end up together," he said, and Ron took another step forward, his ears glowing red. Draco took a step backward, his expression somewhat shocked.

"Didn't think you had it in you, Weasley," he told Ron, who was now also being restrained by Harry, "But I guess if you're trying to save face in front of her," his head jerked toward Hermione, "you'd give it your best."

The three boys glared at each other for a few minutes, and Hermione's blood pounded with hatred for the pale boy standing in front of her. After a few minutes, Draco shook his head, as if clearing it of something.

"That's not why I'm here, even though getting a rise out of you is always fun," he said, taking another step back. "I – I wanted to settle a few things," he said, and now he was talking directly to Harry.

The mood changed so quickly, Hermione could almost feel it. Ron stopped trying to get his hands around Malfoy's throat, and she loosened her grip on his arm. Harry recoiled, looking taken aback.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, his voice still suspicious.

It looked as though this was causing Draco physical pain to do this. "I wanted to set the record straight with you three," he said. "I saved you're life and you saved mine. I'm not in your debt, and you're not in mine. We…we're even. Well," he said, as if he could not help himself, "as even as we'll ever be," he added nastily, looking at Ron and then Ginny, and then back again, his expression condescending.

"Not exactly," Harry said, his voice still deep with anger at Malfoy's insults. "We saved your life twice. The first time was in the fire, the second was on the stairs."

Draco looked taken aback, "That was you, then? You punched me?" It sounded as though he was trying very hard to keep any gratitude out of his voice.

"I did that," Ron growled.

Malfoy blinked, and Hermione knew he was at a loss for words; they were not even, like he had thought. She was sure he was now regretting talking to them, now that it seemed as though he could not have the upper hand. She knew, looking into those cold, grey eyes, that he had never planned on calling a truce, for doing that would have given him a step up, making him the better person. Now that it appeared that he was indeed one step behind, he had miscalculated. And he was regretting it very much.

Harry took a step back, grabbing Ron's arm and dragging him back. "You know what Malfoy? I'm done playing this stupid little game. I don't care anymore, it doesn't mean anything anymore. Why keep score? I don't care if we're even or if we're in debt to you or if you're in debt to us. I don't care about it anymore. I'm done," and with that, he walked away, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny trailing nonplussed behind him.

When they were a good ten feet away, Hermione looked back and saw that Draco stood frozen where they had left him, his mouth open. But what surprised Hermione more than anything was that his face was completely devoid of anger or vengeance. He looked guilty, he looked sorry. And maybe that, that tiny moment of remorse was what Harry wanted. Maybe they were even after all.

They found seats near the front, and sat down together near the rest of the Weasleys. Hermione tried to ignore what felt like hundreds of expectant eyes boring down on her. She tried to concentrate on the feel of Ron's hand in hers instead of all of the curious looks she was getting.

The crowd quieted as Kingsley walked to the podium, which was positioned in front of the large group of chairs. He looked out on all of them, his eyes older than Hermione had ever seen, and for the first time she appreciated how difficult his job was.

"Thank you all for coming today," Kingsley said, his deep voice seeming to reverberate across the grounds. "It is not easy for many of you, coming back to what became a nightmare. It takes a lot of strength and bravery to come, and I praise each and every one of you," he said, and Ron's hold on Hermione's hand grew tighter.

"Exactly six months ago, we gained something at a cost that seemed as though we had lost everything at the same time," Kingsley said, his voice rising above the wind and the lapping waves hitting the shore. "Over the past few months were have tried to rebuild our families and friendships, we have tried to make sense of it all, we have tried to move on without forgetting the past. It has been hard for everyone, no one went unaffected." Kingsley called to the crowd. Hermione felt tears well in her eyes; there was a faint sob that carried in the air as others succumbed to tears. She glanced over at Ron who was sitting there with his face screwed up as if he was staring into a very bright light.

"There was a very big debate over whether or not to reopen school this year," Kingsley said, his voice strong, "Some were not sure if we would be able to do it; it may be too emotional and too soon for some. But I – and others, feel that it would be an insult to the memories of those who fell that day to not reopen school. They died for a reason, they died so that life, life as we knew it, could resume. And to not resume it as it was before would be, I feel, an offense to them. So, thank you for being here, thank you for healing and for honoring those who are no longer with us, those brave men, women, and…and children," his voice broke a little at this last word. "Thank you for honoring the memories of the dead, and for honoring their cause."

There was a roar of applause as Kingsley bowed his head and stepped down from the podium. Hermione blinked tears out of her eyes and looked at Harry, who was gazing admiringly at Kingsley. Ron squeezed Hermione's hand tighter, a sign that he was alright.

Slowly, Harry stood up and Ginny mirrored him, but he shook his head. Once again, this was something he wanted to do alone. He looked nervous, as though he would not be able to match Kingsley's speech. Hermione tried to give him a kind nod, but it did not look as though he was truly seeing anything. His face was very white, his eyes shockingly bright from behind his glasses.

"Hi," he said into the magical microphone, his shaky voice magnified around the crowd. No one said anything; it was eerily silent, "I – I'm Harry. I…well; I don't quite know what to say after Kingsley, he said everything so well." Harry said faintly. He looked up at the castle, then back at the crowd. "Hogwarts is the first home I had, and it still is. I have never felt so at home the way I did when I was here. I'm glad the school is opening, because I know a lot of people feel the same way I do about Hogwarts. I know it's going to be hard at first; in fact, it's going to be hard for a while. But we'll get through this, because we're here, we're home," he concluded, and there was a roar of applause again. It was short, but he had said everything Hermione knew that he needed to say. Harry made his way back to his seat, looking as though he was about to faint, but also a little proud of himself.

After Harry, there was a long procession of speeches made by various people. Two of the most memorable ones were Neville and Lee Jordan; both brought tears to Hermione's eyes, and the air was thick when the two men finished talking. Professor McGonagall also said a few words, as well as Hagrid, Percy, Professor Flitwick, and Ernie MacMillan.

Ron stood up next, his hand in a vise-like grip and Hermione stood up as well. From the front of the crowd, it seemed as though there were many more people. She looked at Ron, whose freckles stood out clearly on his pale face. His breathing was very shallow as he surveyed the crowd, his eyes wide. She squeezed his hand to give him strength, and it seemed as though that small movement gave him the impetus to start.

"Hi, my name is Ron Weasley," he began, his voice shakier than Harry's had been. "In my first year of Hogwarts, I went with Harry and Hermione to find the Sorcerer's Stone, because we thought Snape was trying to steal it. Er, we were wrong, but it all worked out in the end, because You-Know-Who didn't get it," Ron said. Hermione furrowed her eyebrows, wondering where on earth he was going with this. "In my second year, we found the Chamber of Secrets which had been opened again. We also brewed Polyjuice Potion and snuck into the Slytherin Common Room, which isn't nearly as cool as the Gryffindor one…In my third year, Sirius Black had escaped and we all thought that he was after Harry, when really he was after my rat…er, who was actually a person…In my fourth year, they held the Triwizard Tournament. I got put in the Black Lake, which isn't as heroic as it sounds, even though I made it out to be, and I got really jealous of Viktor Krum," Hermione felt her heart beat quickly as she battled with the idea of pulling Ron offstage to save him from embarrassing himself even more. "Fifth year," he continued, "The Ministry interfered and we rebelled against them, right under their nose. We also went to the Ministry, but I don't remember that much of it because I got attacked by these brains they were keeping in a tank. Sixth year… well, a lot of things happened, but I got poisoned and I wasn't one of Slughorn's favorites. And last year, I dropped out and helped Harry find You-Know-Who." Ron said.

He looked out at the crowd, every face pointing toward him. "I know that all sounded random and unnecessary, but I wanted to prove something. When I was at Hogwarts, a lot of bad things happened. A lot of people were hurt and a lot of people were in danger. But a lot of good things happened too. And as hard as it is in the middle of all of this, we have to remember those good things. I know that now… it's been really hard, harder than it will ever be. But I can't forget that it was here that I won a game of life-sized chess and made the Quidditch team and fought against the corrupted Ministry and realized that I love Her- er, someone. Because all of those good things, they count too." Hermione was breathing quickly now, trying not to cry in front of everyone.

"I know this because my brother Fred died here, he died right in front of me, in a hallway I must have walked down a thousand times. I know that sometimes, it's impossible to see that there is a light, and that things can get better. I know that the castle can seem like – as Kingsley said – a nightmare, a place you never want to see again. But I also know that if we let it, we can find that happiness again. It's always been there," he said quietly, his eyes staring out at the crowd. He bowed his head a little, indicating that he was finished.

The applause was deafening. Ron actually took a step back at the sound of it, his eyes wide; he had not been expecting it. He looked at Hermione, as if she could confirm that this was actually happening. She gave him a reassuring smile and he laughed.

People were getting out of their seats, and Ron looked at them, eyes still very wide, at the standing ovation. Hermione alone could hear him swearing under his breath in disbelief through the din or the applause; he was surprised that it had gone so well. He grinned and thanked everyone, his voice lost in the clapping, before stepping down from the podium.

A mass of people were waiting for them at the bottom, and they were engulfed in the mob. Hermione felt Ron's hand slip away from hers as people clapped him on the back and shook his hand, fighting to get nearer to him and thank him for what he had said. Hermione took a step back, watching him shine above all of the others.

Amidst the mass of people, she felt his eyes on her; he needed her, even though he was surrounded by everyone. She pushed her way through the crowd until she found him, his hand outstretched, waiting for her. He gripped her hand tightly, vowing that he would never let go.

After Ron, no one really wanted to speak; they did not think they could match what he had done. After a while, people began to disperse, leaving Ron and Hermione alone. She looked at him for a while, wondering how she was supposed to say how proud of him she was.

"I didn't even prepare that," he said, his hand twitching in hers. She looked at him, surprised. "I had a few words written down, but nothing like I said up there. I didn't even take it with me," Ron said, and he even sounded surprised at himself.

"You were brilliant, it was amazing," she said, smiling up at him. He glowed in her praise, which she knew meant more to him than anything anyone else had said to him.

When everyone had calmed down and sat back down again, Kingsley went back to the podium and stood there, waiting for complete silence. Once the buzz of whispers had dissipated, he welcomed the new students and thanked everyone for attending. Then, people got up to leave, parents said goodbye to their children, and students went up to the school to the Great Hall, where the start of term feast would soon begin. It was a strange way to begin school, but it was the right way.

***

After the memorial, the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione went back to the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley had decided that an impromptu dinner party was required; the ceremony had done her a great deal of good. She was happier than she had been in a very long time; the lines of sorrow were practically gone. George thought that this meant he could set off no-heat fireworks in the middle of the living room, though her good temper did not prove to be that strong.

Because it was too cold to eat outside, they all crammed into kitchen and living room to eat, the people who didn't fit at the table sat on the sofas and chairs in the living room. Andromeda brought Teddy over to Harry, who eagerly took the now black-haired baby into his arms, rocking him gently.

"You've gotten big!" he told Teddy, who looked up innocently at him, his wide eyes looking up into the face above him. With one hand, he reached out and grabbed Harry's glasses, pulling them off his face. Harry laughed and took them back, prying them gently out of Teddy's pudgy fingers. Then, he moved the baby so that he was sitting in his lap, where the glasses were out of his reach.

Teddy eyed Ron, who was sitting across from Harry on the sofa with Hermione. His face in a pout, Teddy extended his arms in front of him, trying to reach Ron. Hermione looked between Ron and the baby, her heart rising into her throat. "Ron, I think he really likes you, look! He's trying to get to you!"

Harry reluctantly deposited Teddy into Ron's surprised arms; it did indeed look like Ron was Teddy's favorite. He began cooing, and his hair turned the same shade of red as Ron's. Hermione laughed at the tiny little baby, and Ron looked down, incredulous.

"Wow, I can't believe this," he said softly, and looked up at Harry, whose eyes were dark with jealousy. Ron's face looked like it was struggling for a moment before he looked at Teddy and said, "Nah, you just wanted to look at how handsome your godfather is, don't you? When you were in his lap, you couldn't see him." Ron stood up and gave Teddy back to Harry. "Here, I have to get something to drink anyways," he said, and walked away.

Harry stared down at the baby in his arms, whose hair had now returned to the black it had been a few minutes ago. Hermione was deep in thought at what had just happened, and Ginny looked surprised, as if she thought her brother was not capable of such a noble act. Harry bounced the baby back in his arms, talking softly to him as Teddy's eyes slowly closed and he fell asleep.

Ron returned with a glass in his hand, and no one spoke of what had just happened. Spotting the sleeping Teddy, Andromeda made her way over to them, which was difficult with the many people crowded in the Burrow.

"You know," she said, when she finally reached the four of them, "I was thinking… it might be nice for Teddy to spend more time with his godfather. How do you feel about overnights?" she asked.

Harry looked shocked. "You mean Teddy spending the night at Shell Cottage?" he asked, his mouth dropping open in surprise.

Andromeda nodded. "You're responsible, as long as you keep him inside, away from that cliff, I don't see why you can't do it. And it wouldn't be for long, maybe a weekend at a time. But if you aren't ready then…"

"No, I really want to do it," Harry interrupted, bringing the baby closer to his chest. "I'd love to have Teddy come over, if it's okay with Ron," he added, raising his eyes to look at his best friend.

Ron nodded, clearly still speechless that he was Teddy's favorite. Andromeda looked between the two young men, her smile growing wider. "Wonderful!" she said, clapping her hands together in delight. "We can talk about it later, now might not be the perfect time." She collected the sleeping baby from Harry's arms and walked away, bouncing him softly in her arms.

The four of them sat in silence, each one contemplating the fact that soon there would be a baby at Shell Cottage. Hermione couldn't help but wonder if she was making this more important in her mind than it really was. Harry was Teddy's godfather; of course he should spend a lot of time with him. But Hermione was thinking about how their lives would inevitably change because of the baby. And she was glad when Ginny finally voiced what thoughts were spinning around her head.

"Wow, a baby at the house. We're so grown up," she said jokingly. And although she said it lightly, Hermione knew she had said it like that because it lessened the magnitude of it all. What Ginny had said was true; they were grown up.

~*~

_Author's Note: Finally, no writer's block…thank God! I decided that after several chapters of pure fluff, I wanted to do a little bit of meaning…sorry, I know there was a lot of positive feedback about the bickering, and I'll do a lot of it, but there wasn't any in this chapter (I didn't think it would really fit). Sorry to all you Draco/Herione fans out there, but that's not my style. Also, I wanted to give Ron some time in the sun…he barely gets any in the books. After this I am done with sad stuff, it brings me down...I'll be focusing on happy things from now on and into the forseeable future :). I hope everyone liked this chapter, reviews would be great!_

_The last part with overnights is a sort of indication where the next chapter will be going…_


	23. And Baby Makes Five

_Author's Note: Again, thank you for the reviews...they were all so wonderful. You probably get tired of reading this all the time, but I really am grateful for all of the comments I get! Happy reading!_

~*~

Chapter Twenty-Three

"It's called a _towel_, Ron. They're about a foot away from the sink, and it wouldn't hurt to use one, you know," Hermione said crossly, folding her arms and eyeing Ron angrily.

"Hermione, it's _water_, it'll dry itself," Ron countered, mirroring her as he crossed his arms and glared at her from the other side of the bed.

"Well, it wouldn't _need_ to dry itself if you had an ounce of care and cleaned it up yourself," Hermione retaliated, her voice increasing an octave.

They were fighting again, a pointless, time-consuming argument. Ron always seemed to get a disproportionate amount of water around the sink whenever he brushed his teeth, and Hermione had a knack of sticking her elbow in it every morning when she woke up, and every night before she went to bed. She had been fairly forgiving until this point; he was a teenage boy, no matter how mature he could sometimes be, and he was used to having people (his mother or the Hogwarts Elves) cleaning up after him. However, this morning, after months of doing the same thing, Hermione lost patients when her sleeve dragged in the water, the icy chill sticking uncomfortably to her skin.

"It's water!" Ron repeated, shouting this time. He rolled his eyes, which she did not take well. She stamped her foot in frustration and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her. She felt slightly immature for doing this; nevertheless, it felt nice to take her anger out on an inanimate object.

She felt something catch on her sleeve halfway down the staircase, and she knew Ron was behind her. Still angry, she pulled her arm away and continued her march down the stairs, pounding down on them unfairly, because it seemed to soak up some of the steam that was undoubtedly coming out of her ears.

At the bottom of the staircase, Hermione paused to push back her hair, and Ron took the momentary hesitation to grab her wrist and pull her closer to him. She glared up into his face, which had an expression of inordinate regret. Wordlessly, he dangled a towel in front of her face. It was damp and darker in spots, where the water had soaked through. "There," he said. "I cleaned the water up, and I will do it every morning and every night until I die. Does that make you feel better?" he said, a grin barely concealed.

"No," she said crossly, and she was just as successful in hiding the smile that was threatening to escape her pursed lips.

He bent down and kissed her on the lips, his mouth soft and apologetic on hers. She heard the muffled sound of the towel hitting the wood floor as he put his arms around her and she ran hers through her hair. Then, he broke away, this time his smile escaped and cast around her.

"Does _that_ make you feel better?" he asked again.

She laughed, her arms lowering so that they were around his neck. She could feel the muscles move as he laughed. "Yes," she said softly, standing on her toes to kiss him again.

"Good," he said, and he closed his eyes for a moment as her lips brushed his cheek. "Because it wouldn't do for you to be cross on your very first day of work."

***

The Ministry of Magic was much smaller than it had been when she had visited it about a year ago to steal the Horcrux from Umbridge. Last year, it had seemed like an impossible, impregnable fortress. There were people flowing in from everywhere, the halls packed with loud, important voices and the swishing of expensive cloaks. The walls had been much higher up, the ceilings almost indiscernible. Now, as she stood in the middle of the Atrium, her shoulders constantly jostled by the flow of people hurrying into work, she realized that it was smaller than she had remembered; many things had changed. Most importantly, it was legal and safe for her to be here now. It was also smaller because she herself had changed; she had more courage and purpose, she had a goal, determination.

She knew she should move, she knew that she looked stupid standing here in the middle of the Atrium, her mouth half-open, her legs refusing to carry her to where she needed to be. She was already getting a fair amount of attention; she could hear whispers of "_is_ _that Hermione Granger?_" all around her. Now, she was getting even more as people pushed past her, then glanced back to wonder why on earth she was not moving.

It was lucky that Percy caught up to her then; if he hadn't spotted her on his way to a meeting she supposed she would have stayed here all day. She watched his red head, quite like Ron's, bob up and down as he fought against the current of Ministry workers to get to her. She was utterly relieved when he managed to appear at her side; she had never been so lost in her life.

"Hermione! Mum told me you would be starting today! I was going to go up to your office to see how you were doing on your first day, but it appears as if you haven't made it there yet," Percy said kindly, and Hermione felt a rush of gratitude toward him. He had shed some of the pompousness in his voice, it had gotten lost somewhere in his honeymoon.

"I need to get there but I…I…" she stuttered, feeling her face grow red. She did not have an explanation as to why she was rooted to the spot. Percy might not be as pretentious as he once was, but he was still professional, and her behavior was the exact opposite.

"I understand," Percy said kindly, giving her a warm smile, "Here, I'll help you find your way. You're on the fifth floor, which is almost on the way, it's no trouble," he added quickly as she opened her mouth to refuse and she was again grateful; she had protested only as a formality.

She followed his flaming head through the crowds of people and into the packed lift. Hermione lowered her eyes, because she could feel the man standing behind her drilling a hole into the back of her head with his startlingly blue eyes. It was very hard to become accustom to being recognized.

The doors of the lift opened loudly to the fifth floor. Hermione was shaking all over, her hands twisting themselves until her circulation stopped and they turned an unhealthy grayish color. She was biting her lip so hard that she would soon draw blood, and she could feel a light perspiration at her hairline. She caught her reflection in the mirrored walls as she looked back to thank Percy. Her face was moon-white; she looked just as nervous as she felt. She stepped out and turned to him, her thank you lost in her parched throat.

"Well, here you are, Hermione. Good luck, you'll do brilliantly. Mum asked for me to check on you at lunchtime, so I'll see you soon," Percy smiled.

She opened her mouth to try to thank him again, but the lift clattered shut and she was left staring at the empty doors, her reflection distorted in the ornate metal of them. Now she was back to where she had been before Percy had rescued her; petrified and completely lost. People bustled around her and she marveled at them; why did they have a purpose, why did they know exactly where to go?

"You're Hermione Granger, aren't you?" said a soft voice behind her. It was not excited or prying; the questioner was not asking because she was recognizable; the query was kind, innocent. And she turned around.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice cracked. The questioner was a young man, a few years older than she was. He had unkempt sandy hair and light freckles that built a bridge across his nose. His eyes were hazel, the flecks of gold shimmering in the bald light above them. Hermione was slightly taken aback; she had not expected anyone this young who could possibly be interested in Elf Rights. She knew her position was rather dull, most newly employed witches and wizards liked to go for a bit of flair.

"Good, I've been looking all over for you! We're so excited to have you!" the man said, and Hermione blushed at the reputation that had already been constructed for her; she hoped she could keep up with it.

"I'm sorry but, who are you?" she asked, not rudely. The young man gasped as he realized that he had yet to introduce himself. Extending a rather small hand, he said, "I'm so sorry, I completely forgot, my name is Will Owens, I work in the department."

Hermione shook his hand, "I'm Hermione," she said, feeling rather stupid; he already knew her name.

"It's really great to meet you," he said enthusiastically, dropping her hand and swinging it awkwardly at his side. She stood watching him; she did not know what she was supposed to do so she waited for what he would do next.

A rather severe looking woman approached the two of them. She had a very McGonagall-ish air to her, and Hermione felt strangely comforted by this. The woman eyed the two of the, her narrowed brown eyes traveling from Will, who was pink in the face, to Hermione. When she reached Hermione, her eyes widened, and a thin smile stretched her lips.

"Well, just the two people I need to see, what are the odds?" she said, a tint of humor caught in her voice, and with that she turned on her heel and walked in the other direction. Hermione glanced at Will; apparently they were supposed to follow her.

"Who is that?" she whispered to Will as they hurried after the older woman, who gave no indication that they were following her; clearly, she expected it.

"That's our boss," he whispered back, and Hermione doubled her pace so as to keep up with the woman she now needed to impress.

"Miss Granger," he woman called over her shoulder, "I don't have any time to show you around, which is a bit unfortunate because I wanted to do it personally," she said, with a certain, harsh quality of warmth in her voice. Again, Hermione was reminded of Professor McGonagall. "I have to be in hearings all day. So, Mr. Owens will show you around, and I'll meet with you on Friday, everything should be calmer by then."

Hermione's voice was stuck in her throat, preventing her from answering. The severe-looking woman did not seem to expect one; she did not turn to receive a response.

The older woman stopped abruptly at pair of large double doors at the end of the corridor. Hermione had to stop herself from gasping. The doors seemed to open into a world lost long ago; architecture was not like this anymore. It reminded her of Audrey's house, the impeccable detail and the tiny ornate objects that had been designed with extraordinary care. The walls, which ran up to a high ceiling, we painted a dark red, adding to the regal air of the room, which seemed to be as large as the Atrium. Most of the room was taken up by rows and rows of cubicles, sectioned off with dark wood. Hermione could see what seemed to be hundreds of heads over the tops of the decadently carved half-walls. The floor was richly carpeted; Hermione felt the heels of her shoes sink slightly into the thick fabric. Along the other wall were rows of doors, each one leading into what Hermione guessed were the offices of the more important employees. Each one was decoratively carved and had a shiny bronze nameplate. Hermione fleetingly thought of Ron's office, and his nameplate of parchment. It made her smile, and she thought Ron deserved an office as grand as the ones she stood in front of undoubtedly were.

The woman led them to the first row of cubicles, and into the first box. There were two desks crammed into the tiny space. One desk had a tower of papers on it, some of them threatening to flutter over the edge. The other was quite neat; all of the papers were stacked in even piles and seemed to be sorted.

With a curt little nod at the two of them, she turned around and began walking in the opposite direction, back up the hallway to the lift. Wizards and witches who passed her nodded, small smiles plastered on their faces.

"I've been here a year and the woman still scares me," Will said. Hermione turned around; for a moment she had forgotten she was not alone. She opened her mouth to ask who the woman was, but Will had the answer ready. "That's Francesca King; she's the Head of the Department. She must really like you; King is notorious for being mean to interns. The first six months I was here she kept calling me Walter, but I didn't mind just because she _acknowledged_ me," Will informed her, shaking his head and walking over to the messy desk. Sitting down in it with an air of having a very long and trying day, he propped his feet up on top of the masses of papers.

Hermione sat down at the neat desk, which was obviously hers. She glanced at Will, who was not doing anything, then back at her desk. "Er, what am I supposed to do?" she asked him, looking at the stacks of papers in front of her. Most of them were short memos, handwritten and scribbled untidily.

Will sat up looking slightly guilty; he was not giving a very good first impression. "Well, mainly we do research. Out jobs are bottom of the ladder, you work your way up from here. We don't actually make laws or anything like that, so we help the people who _are_ making laws. All of those memos on your desk are queries from other workers who are writing a bill and need some information or a figure. Our job is to look it up and give it to them." Will said. "If you're lucky and you do a good job, you get to sit in when laws are signed," Will said, smiling. Hermione couldn't tell if he was joking or not about that last bit.

Hermione nodded, taking this all in. She would not immediately be freeing all of the House Elves; it was an unrealistic thought to think she would enter the Ministry at such a high position. But if what Will said was right, then in a few years, she could be the one making the laws, she could make a difference. Will still did nothing, he was sitting at his desk, his head bobbing up and down to a song he alone could hear. Hermione tapped the heel of her new shoe on the wooden desk, making a light, hollow sound. More than anything she wanted to kick them off; she hated wearing high heels, but she wanted to make a good impression on her first day.

After what seemed like an hour of waiting for something, she reached across her desk, unrolled a tight furl of parchment which was neatl stacked on top of the closest pile, and read what was messily scrawled on it: "how many dragons are currently residing in England?" she read the piece of parchment several times, and then began to panic. She did not know the answer. She closed her eyes, trying to see the books she had spread in front of her for the last three weeks. Odd facts about dragon laws floated in front of her eyelids, but nothing about an actual census.

"Are you okay?" Will asked tentatively. Hermione's eyes flew open. She turned to the young man, the piece of parchment clutched in her fist.

"I don't know the answer," she said in a horrified whisper. She hated the feeling of not knowing something. How could she have been so stupid? Of course she would need to know about dragons, why hadn't she researched them in greater depth?

Will's face broke out into a grin. "Oh! They don't expect us to know half of that stuff! There's the library the floor below us, it's really nice – it's the one the entire Ministry uses – we'll spend most of our time in there. You didn't think they expected you to _memorize_ all of this stuff by heart, did you?" he asked, slightly bemused.

Hermione ignored the last question, the blush on her cheeks giving her away. Will held back his laughter; they had just met and she knew he didn't want to make fun of her on the first day. She did not mind though; she was experiencing a light, bubbly feeling. She would be spending most of her time in the library, looking things up and learning. She had found the perfect job.

***

On Friday, Ron took the afternoon off to come home early and make dinner in celebration of Hermione's first week of work. It snowed that afternoon, covering the ground with a soft blanket of white. Hermione had purposefully Apparated just outside the house; she had been in the office all day, and she wanted to see the first snow of the season. When she burst through the door, shaking snow out of her hair and shivering from the cold, she paused for a moment in the doorway, taking in the sight of Ron in the kitchen, an apron tied around his waist as he stood by the stove, mixing something in a large pot. The radio in the corner of the kitchen was on and he was singing softly under his breath, the tune lost. She walked into the room, shedding her coat and kissing him on the cheek. She perched herself on the counter near him, peering into the large pot, whose contents he was stirring. It smelled good, at least.

"How was work?" he asked her, reading the recipe intently before sprinkling something into the mixture. Once he was done wth this, he leaned closer to her and returned the kiss. She could feel it on her cheek even after he broke away to continue stirring.

"Wonderful," Hermione said enthusiastically. "I met with Ms. King today, and she said I was doing really well, I'm much faster than the girl they had before. She said that I have a lot of potential, and that Will and I are a very efficient team," Hermione said cheerfully.

Ron raised an eyebrow. He had become oddly rigid and stopped stirring, the spoon held a few inches from the pot. "Will? That's the other intern, right?" he asked, feigning to be casual. Hermione nodded, detecting the conversation that was about to happen.

"What's he like?" Ron asked. The question was posed innocently, but Hermione saw right through it; he could not have made it any more transparent. He tried to go back to stirring the contents of the pot, trying to act normal, but Hermione knew better. He was sloshing far too much of it over the side to be considered benign.

"Well, he's not very tall, his eyes aren't blue, he doesn't have nearly enough freckles, and his hair is not red," Hermione said, leaning slightly closer to him. She could feel the heat of the stove on her cheek; it felt good after the cold.

"Yeah, but is he…you know, good looking?" he asked very hesitantly, his eyes searching her face. Clearly, he had not picked up on the extremely obvious hint she had just given him. Hermione tried very hard not to roll her eyes.

Hermione shrugged, "He's not like you, it doesn't matter what he looks like because all I see is things that aren't you," she told him simply, and his face split into a wide grin; he understood this time. He dropped the spoon into the pot and took a step closer to her. Wrapping his arms around her, he gently picked her up off the counter and kissed her. She kissed him back, and he filled her with a type of warmth the flame from the stove could not.

"Hermione, was that you I heard?" Harry called from the other room. Ron and Hermione broke apart and hurried to put some distance between them as Harry walked into the room, a newspaper in his hand. Hermione pushed back her hair and tried to look nonchalant. Judging by the knowing look on Harry's face, it wasn't entirely working.

"Yes," she answered, perching herself back on the countertop and crossing her legs. The edge of the counter bit into the back of her leg and she shifted uncomfortably. Harry leaned against the table, his eyes flickering from Ron, who was singing again, to Hermione.

"How was work?" he asked her, rolling up the newspaper and tossing it onto the table carelessly. Hermione told him about her day, but she did not take long to describe it; she could see in Harry's face that he wanted to say something.

"Everything alright?" Ron asked, apparently detecting the same thing Hermione was. Harry shook his head experimentally, then looked up at the two of them, his eyes somewhat uncertain.

"You know how we told Andromeda we wanted to look after Teddy for the night?" he asked. When they nodded, he continued. "Well, I talked to her today and it seems as though we have a problem: there's really no way to get him here; Andromeda doesn't want to Apparate with him, and he's too young to be taken by Floo Powder, plus all the spinning might not be the best thing for a baby.

"Oh," Hermione said, wondering why she had not foreseen this problem before. She furrowed her brow, trying to come up with a solution to this problem. She knew how much Harry wanted Teddy to stay here, and she knew he would be crushed if it could not work out.

"I know!" Ron said loudly, making Hermione jump and Harry startle. "Why don't you use the bike?" he said, flicking the spoon he was holding in his hand, and spraying the ceiling with food. Harry hastily fixed it with his wand, then turned to his best friend, his expression perplexed.

"The bike?" Harry repeated nonplussed, his eyebrows drawn together, trying to understand. Hermione gave Ron a confused look, to which he responded with a rather exasperated one; clearly he was disappointed that she had not reached the same brilliant conclusion.

"Sirius's bike!" Ron cried after a few moments, when neither Harry nor Hermione responded. Hermione's mouth dropped open; she was not sure if the was the best plan or the most idiotic.

"I thought it broke after Hagrid and I used it," Harry said slowly, his green eyes clouding with the memory of the night they had left Privet Drive the summer before.

"Yeah, it was broken, but Hagrid gave it back to Dad. Once we showed up at old Lovegood's house my family couldn't go anywhere, remember? So Dad fixed up the bike while they were waiting around. Last I heard, it's in perfect working condition." Ron said, his back to Harry as he stirred the contents of the pot.

Harry's eyes lit up, and Hermione knew that there was more in that light than just an answer to his problem. The bike had been Sirius's, his godfather's, and now he would be using it to get Teddy, his godson. There was some chain, an unbreakable connection, between that bike and the three of them. She knew that Harry still felt the powerful bonds Sirius had left behind, and she knew that by rescuing his own godson, he would make that bond stronger. After all, Sirius had rescued Harry, in a way. He had showed him what love and family were like. Hermione new Harry wanted to do the same.

"Well, I'll have to ask Andromeda about it, I don't know how happy she'd be to hear her grandson is flying around the country on a motorbike, but it's worth a try, isn't it?" Harry said, straightening up and looking marginally happier. Hermione nodded fervently. "I'll go find Ginny, maybe she'd like to come," he added, half to himself, as he picked the newspaper off the table where he had discarded it and left the room, calling her name.

Harry and Ginny returned after dinner, which worked out perfectly. The meal took place in very dim lighting and no silverware was involved. Hermione spent the entire time shivering with happiness as Ron's eyes found her in the light cast by the dusty candles he had unearthed from God only knew where. She didn't actually eat very much, which was alright since Ron's cooking still needed improvement; it felt as though her heart had launched itself very firmly into her throat and refused to leave. She marveled at Ron's confidence until she realized, with a private little smile, that his hands were shaking, the glass tremoring slightly as he took a drink of water.

It was past seven when the front door burst open, the wave of shockingly cold air hitting the room like a fist. Ron and Hermione, who had been in the living room, jumped up at the sight of the two of them, Harry with a small bundle in his hands.

"It worked!" Hermione cried, recognizing a blur of black as Teddy's hair. "She actually let you take him on the bike," she said, and she could not help but be surprised. She had not told Ron – who did not keep it quiet that he thought the plan was genius – that Andromeda _may_ protest to her only close relative flying around with an inexperienced motorbike driver.

Harry grinned, and then looked down at Teddy. "It took a lot of work; she was _very_ hesitant in the beginning. She said flat-out no when I asked at first. But I told her about the bike and what it meant and she warmed up to it after a while," Harry said, and Ginny gave him a very approving look.

"Teddy loved it," Ginny said, laughing. "You should have seen him; he was laughing the whole time. I guess it's in his blood, the need for adventure" she said, smiling at the baby in Harry's arms. She reached out for him and Harry gently gave Teddy to her.

Harry looked up at her, alarmed, "I hope not!" he said, but a small smile played at his lips. He looked down at Teddy, whose arm had freed itself from the blanket and was waving wildly in the air.

They spent the rest of the night playing with Teddy, which turned out to be a job for the four of them. Teddy had inherited his mother's lack of grace; he was constantly reaching up and grabbing at trouble. Although they had tried to make the house as safe as possible, locking up breakables and putting everything at his reach out of sight, Teddy was persistent. He seemed to cause mishaps even if there was nothing in his way. The four of them sat in the middle of the living room floor, creating a circle, watching as Teddy toddled around, going to each of them and changing his hair to match whoever he was close to at that moment. He found Ron the most, and Hermione's heart nearly broke in two when at nine thirty, Teddy, whose eyes were heavy with tiredness, plopped down on Ron's lap, rested his head on one of Ron's legs, stuck his thumb in his mouth, and promptly fell asleep.

Harry laughed softly, "Poor thing, we kept him up for too long. He should have gone to bed an hour ago, but he's too much fun to play with."

Ginny laughed in agreement. "Tomorrow night he'll go to bed at a normal time, Andromeda would kill us all if she knew how late he was up."

Ron did not appear to have heard a word of what the two of them had said. He was looking down at the baby in his lap with the same expression he had worn when he had looked at Teddy sleeping in his crib. His face was soft with a fierce sort of pride that rarely graced it. His eyes were dark with care as he picked the ginger-haired baby off of his legs and cradled Teddy in his arms. Hermione felt the same weight pull at her heart as she watched him rock Teddy gently, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"We were thinking of putting him in the other spare bedroom upstairs," Harry said to Ron. Hermione's shook herself out of her reverie and turned to Harry, who looked as though he was struggling not to feel jealous that Teddy had chosen Ron to sleep on.

Ron looked up, blinking confusedly. "What?" he asked; he had been in another place, a place where Harry's voice could not reach him.

Harry bit his lip, as if by doing so he could bite back a few retaliations. "Is it okay if he sleeps in the other spare bedroom upstairs?" he tried again, this time with Ron listening.

"Oh," Ron said. "Sure, that sounds fine." Slowly, he stood up and held the sleeping baby out to Harry. "Here you go," he said.

Much to everyone's surprise, Harry shook his head. "You should do it," he said, taking a step back. Hermione caught Ginny's eye, and the latter of the two shook her head; judging by the confused look on Ginny's face, she understood as much as Hermione did.

Ron furrowed his eyebrows. "But this is his first night, you should do it," he said, his arms still outstretched. Hermione was trying very hard not to laugh, even though the situation was not funny at all. She just did not think she would ever see the two of them fight…over a baby.

Harry shook his head again, "Really, you do it. He really likes you," he said, and Hermione could hear the defeat in his voice.

"Seriously mate, you should do this," Ron said, not giving up. It made Hermione's heart flutter because she knew that as much as Ron really wanted to be the one to put Teddy to bed, he was giving him to Harry; Ron knew Harry needed it more.

Ginny, who seemed to have reached her limit with this conversation, which was going nowhere, stood up and took the still-sleeping Teddy. Grabbing Harry's hand, she led him upstairs as she softly cooed to Teddy. Ron watched the two of them go, his arms hanging limply at his sides.

Hermione, who was standing behind him, walked over to him, wrapping his hand in hers and resting her head on his arm. He looked down at her, that same slow smile dancing on his face. "You were amazing," she told him, grinning.

"I don't know what I did to make him like me so much," Ron said shrugging, but smiling proudly. Hermione wondered if it were possible for Teddy to know that Ron had given himself up to Teddy; he had confronted his fears to that tiny baby. Ron had laid everything out in front of him. Hermione wondered if Teddy could possibly know what he represented to Ron: a chance, a declaration of maturity, a future. Could a baby know something like that?

"We should go upstairs to bed," Hermione suggested. Ron nodded in agreement, waving his wand to turn off the lights as they retraced Ginny's and Harry's footsteps.

When Hermione came out of the bathroom (where the counter around the sink was water-free) Ron had disappeared. Looking around, her eyes narrowed in confusion, she called his name hesitantly. Usually he waited for her, his long legs stretched out on that big white bed. Tonight, he had vanished. She looked at the door, which was slightly ajar. Of course. She should have known all along.

Standing on tip-toe, she crept out of the lit bedroom and into the dark hallway. At the last door before the landing, she paused, waiting for a confirmation. She heard Ron whisper something softly, and she smiled knowingly. She pushed the door open quietly and let herself into what had become Teddy's room.

Moonlight poured in from the large bay window at one wall, the light spilling over the contents of the room like a smile. The crib, which Harry had Vanished from Andromeda's house, stood in the middle of the floor, the beds had been pushed against the far wall. Ron stood leaning over it, his hair partially obscuring his face as he watched Teddy sleep. Teddy's hair, which had no one to imitate in his state of sleep, had turned a shade of strawberry-blonde, the silvery glow catching in its silky strands.

Hermione walked around the crib so that she was standing next to Ron, who had not looked up as she had entered; he knew she would find him.

"Saying goodnight?" she asked, her hand finding his in the dark.

Ron smiled a little. "Something like that," he said, and Hermione looked up at him, her eyes full with questions. His head was still bowed, refusing to answer them.

The air seemed to softly pulse between them as they watched Teddy sleep, his small chest rising and falling slowly, his tiny fists brought close to his face. Harry had covered him with a blanket, but he had evidently kicked it off; it was tossed in a heap at the end of the crib.

Teddy stirred; his breathing became faster as his little hands sailed through the air. From the depth of sleep he made a tiny, pitiful noise, shattering the air. He was having a nightmare. Slowly, with that same instinct, Ron reached into the crib and put a hand on Teddy's chest. It covered the baby's entire torso, and to Hermione, it looked impossibly big. At the moment Ron's hand touched him, Teddy stopped moving, and the nightmare dissipated. The warmth and comfort of Ron's hand seemed to calm him. Hermione glanced at Ron, who had a look of care on his face that was so fragile, so strong, that she wanted to cry out.

Ron removed his hand from Teddy's chest and put it around her waist instead. "We should let him sleep," Ron whispered in her ear, and she nodded in agreement, feeling the tiny hairs on her arms stand up at the feel of his breath softly caressing the shell of her ear.

Taking her hand in his, Ron gently led her out of the bedroom. Hermione was reluctant; something had happened in here, she had seen it in Ron's face when he had looked down at Teddy. She wanted to ask him about it, so she looked up, her eyes stealing into his. And with that glance, everything was said. She knew that when he saw Teddy, he too saw a different baby; he saw the baby Hermione saw.

After the darkness of the nursery, the soft glow of the bedroom seemed almost glaring. Ron seemed to think the same thing; he took his wand out of his pocket and pointed it at the lamp, dimming it so that the room was bathed in sultry darkness, shadows stealing the furniture, wrapping it in a loving dusk.

Hermione sat perched on the end of the bed as Ron changed, and she did not pretend to look away; the muscles in his back rippled as he pulled his shirt over his head. She folded her hands and placed them firmly in her lap; it was all she could do to stop herself from running her fingers over his smooth skin.

He joined her on the bed, his fingers dangerously tracing up and down her arms, making her spine tingle with excitement. She smiled slightly at the feel of it; it was so soft, it could have been imaginary. Moving closer to him, she felt the air between them heat as the passion fizzled and burned. Their lips touched.

When they parted, they were both racing for breath. Hermione pushed hair out of her face, her chest rising and falling as she looked at Ron, his eyes staring deeply into her. She watched as they carved a pattern down her cheek and jaw, and landed on her shoulder. Curiously, she glanced down at what he was staring at.

In the heat of the kiss, the neck of Hermione's tee-shirt had slipped over her shoulder. It was an old shirt of her father's; she had taken it before they left last year, something to remember him by because his scent was still on it. She had never returned it because it was worn and perfect. But, made for a person much larger than she was, the neck was far too big, which was why it slipped off over shoulder.

Ron was staring at her exposed shoulder blade, where a thin strip of black ran over her skin. Hermione glanced down at her bra and then at Ron, who did not seem to be able to look away from it. She bit her lip to keep from laughing.

"Ron?" she whispered, her voice quivering in the darkness.

Ron seemed incapable of words, but he managed to get a sound out of the back of his throat. Again, Hermione bit down hard on her lower lip to stop herself from laughing. It intrigued her that something so simple as a black bra would make Ron stop in his tracks.

She waited a moment, readying herself for what she was about to say. "It comes off, you know," she whispered, and she watched as his eyes widened at what she had told him, as if this was something he had not known, a heavily guarded secret.

They met in the middle again, and there was a different type of closeness between the two of them. For the first time, they knew exactly what was happening, they knew what to do. She felt Ron's hands slowly slide under the shirt, moving up her back, tracing every ridge in her spine. She shuddered a little at the striking perfection of it, the feel of his hands on her skin.

Finally, they made it to the clasp on her upper back. His fingers were clumsy as he struggled do undo the tiny hook. Hermione was patient; she knew that this was something he would not be good at. Finally, with what seemed to be prodigious effort, she felt the lace separate from her body.

His trembling hands stayed on her back for a moment before they slowly slid to the front of her body. She gasped at the feel of him, and from far away she could hear him sigh with happiness.

It was new and terrifying and beautiful all at once, every emotion seemed to wash over her. She felt herself melt a little, sinking at the feel of his touch, his hands, those wonderful hands, on the intoxicating, sensual secret she had just revealed to him.

~*~

_Author's Note: Was that last part too much? I didn't want to get too descriptive; I think some things are better left unsaid. When Ron and Hermione had romantic moments I know a few authors like to actually describe it. I don't mind that, but personally I like to be more "poetic" and describe emotions rather than actions. Was that last bit overdone/ too much information? A reviewer asked me for a moment between Ron and Hermione where they knew where they were going, and they weren't "lost" in each other. I tried to meet that request with the last part. _

_I liked writing the part about Hermione at work; I wanted to give her a position she would love. It was actually fun to write, because I completely followed my own imagination. What do you think…should I write more like that or does it get boring? Will is no one of great importance by the way…Hermione made that clear and he won't come into the story as a romantic interest : )_

_I also added some fluff with Teddy but I don't know, I think it might be getting a little old… I wanted him to represent a lot, but I don't want to take away from that by overstressing it, so I probably won't write as much about Teddy…but if I get positive reviews, I can keep on writing it; I do like the idea of Teddy's and Ron's "connection" as well as what it means for Hermione._

_Also, I had a question: I'd like to start dedicating chapters to reviewers. I know some people do it and I'd really like to do it. My only concern is that I can't pick all of you at once (obviously) and I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings if they're not immediately picked. Any thoughts?_

_I hope everyone liked the chapter…reviews would be great! I have a few different directions I can move in; I'd love to hear what people think so I can choose the right one!_

_P.S – I'm in the process of writing a new story (this one will still be my focus, the other one will only be 7-8 chapters.) I put up the story "Eyes Closed" but I took it down because it didn't get very many reviews. The new one should hopefully be up in a few days!_


	24. Mixed Tapes and Mistletoe

_Author's Note: Thank you so much for all of the reviews!! They were all so amazing; there were a lot of long ones, which I enjoy especially because I love reading what people have to say :)_

_This chapter is for Ron, who turned thirty on Monday; a sad reminder that he is – alas – fourteen years older than me. _

~*~

Chapter Twenty-Four:

Hermione was just starting to feel sleep slip away, like water through fingers. She was halfway between being awake and falling asleep, and she fought to try and submerge back into dreams; she had been having a wonderful one, though it too was slowly slipping out of reach.

"Hermione," came a voice from what seemed like very far away. She squeezed her eyes shut, burying her head deeper in the pillows, fighting against opening her eyes. It was so warm and comfortable here

"Mhmm," she said vaguely, her eyes still snapped shut. The pillows were slowly suffocating her as she felt them envelope her in their warm, fresh scent.

"Hermione, wake up," Ron said, placing a soft kiss on her shoulder. She did not stir; five days of working meant that the two days she spent at Shell Cottage were used to catch up on sleep she did not get during the week. She could feel the weight of every lost hour hanging behind her eyes.

"Hermione, I got water _all over_ the counter in the bathroom…and I didn't clean it up," Ron tried for a third time. She could hear the laughter shaking in his voice, the light, teasing sound of it.

She let her eyes flutter open; there was no use, she would never be able to sleep now. Slowly, she lifted her head from the pillow as she got more accustom to the grey splinters of winter morning.

"That's not even a little bit funny," she said, her voice dry and cracked from non-use.

She head Ron laugh from somewhere behind her. "Ah, so you wake up to _that_, of all things? I'll have to remember that for next time," he said, and she could almost hear his grin.

She turned on her side to see him sitting propped up on the pillows against the headboard, his hair mussed and hanging in his face, his shirt wrinkled and soft from sleeping. He was smiling down at her, completely oblivious to the fact that it was hardly past nine in the morning.

"Why are you awake?" she asked him, letting her eyes close once more. She felt Ron move closer to her, sliding his arm under her head and pressing his body into hers.

"Because this is the one day of the year that I wake up at a time that the rest of the world does," he said, his hand running through her hair.

Hermione's eyes opened again. She had completely forgotten. She tilted her head up so that she could see into his eyes. Kissing him on the cheek, she whispered, "Merry Christmas, Ron."

Ron laughed, "You remembered, have you? Took you long enough! If you had slept any longer you would have missed Christmas _and_ Ginny's breakfast, she's gotten it into her head that she's going to make pancakes. Though it might be a good thing if you missed them," Ron mused; Ginny's cooking was worse than his.

Hermione opened her mouth to retort angrily at that first part – to inform him that he had hardly given her five minutes to remember that today was Christmas, but he shook his head and put a finger to her parted lips.

"No fighting today, not on Christmas," he told her, raising an eyebrow and smiling. She bit her lip and tried not to smile back. His grin widened and he bowed his head slightly to place a kiss on her forehead.

"Shall we exchange gifts now?" Hermione asked, "You know…just the two of us?" She quite liked the idea, sitting up here in bed with the snow falling heavily outside the window…just the two of them, alone, together.

Ron nodded eagerly. "I'd like that," he said softly, leaning backwards a little to take something off of his dresser. Hermione took the opportunity to sit up fully and stretch her arms, yawning widely. She too turned to her dresser and pulled out the present she had been hiding in one of the drawers.

Pushing the blankets off of her, she sat cross-legged in front of Ron, her gift held tightly to her chest. Her heart was beating rather quickly; he had given her a bracelet – a diamond bracelet – for her birthday, and she wanted to give him something equally as nice as what he had given her. It had been slightly challenging, finding the perfect gift, especially when she defined 'perfect' as a very, very narrow category.

Ron eyed her, his eyes deep and dark with affection. "You want to go first, don't you?" he said, giving her a knowing look. She was practically bouncing up and down with excitement, her hands shaking slightly as she held onto the present firmly. She nodded and let out a giggle that was quite unlike her.

Ron took the present from her hands and eyed the thick rectangle. She watched as his eyes traveled from the gift to her face, and then back to the parcel in his hands. "It's a book, isn't it?" he asked after a few moments.

She felt her cheeks turn slightly hotter, "If I tell you it wouldn't be fun to open, would it?" she responded, deflecting the question because it was, after all, a book.

Ron tore open the wrapping paper and Hermione had to force herself to keep from laughing. Really, getting a present was just as good as this. For someone to go through everything that they had and still be thrilled about a tiny thing like Christmas was wonderful. She would not mind if Ron hadn't gotten her anything at all; watching his expression as he excitedly tore the paper gave her something that could not be wrapped.

"It's a cookbook," Ron announced, as if there were a crowd of people in the bedroom that did not know what she had given him. He flipped through it, stopping occasionally. When he had reached the end he looked up at her. "I don't know whether to be happy or insulted," he teased lightly.

Hermione felt herself blush. "That's not just _any _cookbook, Ron," she said, and she was surprised to hear the unfamiliar, flirtatious note in her voice. "It's a _special_ cookbook," she said with that same, strange tone.

Ron looked delighted. "Does it do all the cooking for me?" he asked, his eyes widening. Hermione laughed.

"No. This one comes with private lessons," she told him, unable to keep the blush from rising higher in her cheeks. She wondered what on earth had given her so much confidence.

True to form, Ron did not understand. He flipped through the book again, pausing on the back cover and scanning the words printed on it, as if he had missed something the first time. "It does? I didn't see that, did I miss…"

Hermione laughed lightly. "I meant _I_ am going to give you private lessons," she finally managed to squeak out.

Ron's eyes flew from the cover of the book, which he was still intently reading, to her pink face. He raised an eyebrow, and Hermione knew he was picturing what these lessons would entail, and grinned. "Well, I think that makes this the best book I've ever gotten…make that the best gift I've ever gotten," he said, leaning over and kissing her softly on the lips.

Hermione let out a sigh of relief. She had been so worried that he would not like it, that he would take it as something insignificant and boring. She had worried that she would disappoint him.

"My turn," Ron said, surprising her slightly. She had gotten so caught up in the look on his face when he had opened her gift, and the relief when he had liked her present that she forgotten that he had not given her his yet.

He handed her a tiny wrapped rectangle, small enough to fit in her palm. She held it in her hands for a moment; it was too small to be a book, and too narrow to be a jewelry box. "What is it?" she asked, holding the present in her hands as if weighing it.

"If I tell you it wouldn't be fun to open, would it?" Ron echoed teasingly. She gave him an endearing smile then returned to the gift. Like the necklace, it had been carefully wrapped, the paper smooth against whatever it concealed. Hermione almost didn't want to open it, not when he had put so much obvious effort into it. Slowly, she separated the layers of paper, peeling the tape of gently so that it did not rip.

"Oh, come on, open it like everyone else does," Ron said, clearly impatient. She took his advice – the suspense was getting to her too. With one tug, she ripped off the remaining wrapping paper and out fell…

A cassette tape.

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows, trying to understand. She had never received such a questionable gift. She was sure Ron did not know what this was, much less what it did. She _had_ given him a book, but this made no sense at all. She felt that it had all been a bit anticlimactic; was this a joke? If it was, she did not find it very finny.

"Sorry, but I don't understand," she said quietly, not wanting to hurt his feelings. The look of pride on his face practically radiated off. Perhaps he had confused a cassette tape for something else?

"It's a mixed tape!" Ron said excitedly. "I made it myself. It took a bit of time, I got the tape from dad; he bought a tape player years ago but couldn't figure what all the buttons and knobs did. So, I took the tape and added songs. By magic, of course," Ron said, that same pride still emulating in his voice.

Hermione frowned; she still didn't understand what would posses Ron to get her – of all things – a cassette tape. Seeing the look on her face, he looked slightly disheartened but did not give up. He moved a little closer to her, taking her hand in his.

"Remember that night I fell asleep in your tent and Ginny and Harry found us in the morning?" he paused long enough for Hermione to nod. "And remember how after he asked if he could talk to me alone?" again, he paused for Hermione to nod. "Well, the first thing he said to me was, 'Well I guess now you're going to have to make her a mixed tape,' so I did!" Ron finished.

"Oh, Ron," she said, because she didn't know what words could possibly say how she felt as her heart slowly leaked into her chest. A mixed tape would be horribly cliché from anyone else, but from Ron, it was sweet and romantic. It was not a mistake at all; he had done what she had tried to: he had found meaning in something small, in something that no one else would have understood. Because if anyone else had given her a mixed tape for Christmas, well, it would not have meant to her what this one did.

"Do you like it?" he asked anxiously, and she looked up into his eyes. He had been desperately trying to impress her, just as she had been with the cookbook and lessons. She realized, looking at the gifts on held between them, that they did not need expensive gifts or typical romantic tokens. Maybe a cookbook could be more meaningful than a room full of pearls, maybe a mixed tape could mean more than all the diamonds the world had. Because what they had, between them, was something money could never posses: it was feeling, passion, love.

"I love it," Hermione whispered, because she did. She wondered if it would ever be possible for her to tell Ron just how much she loved his gift, how much it meant to her. She leaned closer to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him softly on the cheek. Her lips lingered for a moment on his skin before she traced her way to his lips. She felt him drop the book on the bed and bring her closer to him, embracing her tightly, his hands firm on her back.

But as soon as it started, it was over in a thick, acrid wave smoke. Hermione broke away, her nose scrunched up. Ron was wearing a similarly nauseated expression. "I think Ginny burnt the pancakes, and half of the kitchen with them," he said.

***

They arrived at the Burrow for Christmas dinner ten minutes late, which did not go unnoticed by Mrs. Weasley. There had been a slight mishap in the kitchen that had caused the four of them to run a bit off schedule…Ginny actually _had_ managed to set the kitchen on fire; there had been a newspaper near the burner she had been using. The newspaper had ignited, sending everything around it into flames. Luckily, there was no damage and it was unanimously agreed that it was not necessary to tell Bill or Fleur that the house had been a few short minutes away from a bonfire.

Because they were late, almost everyone was already at the Burrow, and Hermione smiled at their familiar faces. Mr. Weasley was in the corner trying to tune the radio, which was emitting garbled sounds of Celestina Warbeck. George was sitting on the stairs, shooting off no-sound, no-heat fireworks so that the air was filled with bright lights and colors. He grinned at the four of them, raising a hand in welcome. Charlie was in the corner, pouring over a book on dragons he had evidently just received. Percy and Audrey were sitting together on one of the armchairs, both looking extremely happy. Fleur was lounging on the sofa, eight months pregnant and looking extremely round. As Hermione took off her coat, Bill rushed past them, casting a greeting to the four of them over his shoulder as he hurried to bring Fleur her tea.

"Well, you're not the last to arrive," Mrs. Weasley said above the noise of the family. "Andromeda's on her way, she said Teddy's holding her up a bit but she'll be here shortly," she said, gathering their coats in her arms and disappearing into the next room to put them away. "Why do you smell of smoke?" she asked Ginny suspiciously as her daughter handed Mrs. Weasley her jacket.

"What?" Ginny asked, trying in vain to appear innocent. It did not work, Mrs. Weasley's eyes bore sharply into Ginny, and Harry apparently feeling that it would be prudent to remove Ginny from this situation, took Ginny's hand and led her away from her mother.

Ron collapsed on the nearest sofa, pulling Hermione, whose hand was wrapped in his, down with him. She laughed, the sound filling around the room, mixing with the laughter and talk of everyone else. George walked by to help his father, who was struggling with the radio, and winked at the two of them.

"Ron, if you need an excuse to just kiss her, I saw mum putting some mistletoe in your doorway. But judging by the way you two carry on, you don't even need an excuse," George said, laughing.

Ron's mouth dropped open. "She did not!" he said, ignoring George's jibe and focusing instead on his mother's choice of decoration.

George nodded earnestly. "At first I wasn't sure if I should be proud of her, for pulling such a prank…I was almost sad I hadn't thought of it first, with the way you are always at it. But then I realized that she's just, well…she's just being mum," George said, giving Ron a knowing look, then shrugging and walking away to help Mr. Weasley, who was now cursing at Celestina Warbeck.

Ron stared open-mouthed at his older brother's back. "I can't believe her," he said softly, and Hermione knew he was speaking of his mother. "Sometimes I wonder what goes on in her head."

"Maybe she just _really_ likes mistletoe," Hermione joked, curling up to Ron.

Ron raised his eyebrows. "Maybe she just _really_ likes the thought of you having my last name," he said.

It was as if icy water had been poured down her back. There were so many things in that sentence that made her breath catch and her heart race. It was unexpected, first of all. They were still teenagers, much too young to consider marriage, especially because they had not even been together for very long…not in the right sense, that is.

But the part that made her heart beat loudly in her ears was that he had used the word 'my'. It was not simply that Mrs. Weasley liked her, or that she had been around the Weasleys for so long she was just considered family, it was that he had said, 'my last name'; and it made a world of difference than saying 'our last name'. For a second, a heartbeat, she did not understand why she had been affected by this. And then, it all came to her in a flash or realization. She _liked_ the idea of having his last name. It made her shiver, even though the room was very warm.

She did not have a chance to tell him any of this, though she was not sure if she would have; at that moment Andromeda came bursting in through the door, bringing a chilled blast of cold air and a lot of commotion as everyone hurried over to see Teddy. Harry got there first, his arms outstretched the hold his godson, whose hair was a festive shade of green.

"He took one look at the tree last night, and it's been that color ever since," Andromeda said laughing, handing the baby to a very eager Harry and shedding her coat. Harry smiled down at Teddy and his unusual-colored hair, and Hermione was sure that he was remembering his mother's similar lack of conventionalism.

Once Andromeda arrived, Mrs. Weasley shepparded everyone around the table to eat the meal she had prepared. With his wand, Mr. Weasley had pushed all of the furniture to the side of the room, so that they could all sit in the dining room at the same table. Hermione found herself in between Ron and George, which was made slightly uncomfortable due to the conversation held between the three of them a few minutes ago. Hermione could almost feel Ron's and George's silent looks and glances as they sailed over her head. She felt around the darkness under the table until she found Ron's leg. She hooked her foot around his, and then tension in the air noticeably lessened.

There was an undeniably sad air to the room, as much as everyone was trying to move around it. Hermione had expected something like this to happen; it was the first real family event since Fred's death. The place he had left behind seemed to echo in their hearts as they sat around the table, everyone was thinking that one more should have been sitting here tonight, laughing and talking with the rest of them. Hermione saw Mrs. Weasley's eye flicker to George's side on several occasions, and Hermione wondered if she was picturing the boy who should be seated next to his twin.

After a good twenty minutes of eating and the sounds of forks clattering on china, everyone sat back in their seats and fell into the lull of relaxed conversation. Hermione sat back a little, full with warm food, very aware of Mrs. Weasley's eyes, which were on Ron's arm; he had draped it around her shoulders.

No one seemed very willing to move; especially Fleur. She had already had Bill get her three servings of food, and was now complaining that she wanted more tea. Bill, who looked as though he had not had a proper night's sleep in a very long time, tried not to groan as she extended her mug so that it was right in his face, a smile of flattery on her lips.

"I'll get you some," Hermione heard herself saying, though she had no idea what had possessed her to say it. She pushed back her chair, feeling Ron's arm leave her rather reluctantly. She reached across the table to take Fleur's cup and walked into the kitchen. Much to her surprise, Harry was standing at the counter, waiting for the kettle to boil.

"Hello," she said brightly, walking up to the counter near him and leaning her elbow on it. Harry turned to her and smiled.

"Hi," he said, turning up the heat under the kettle and placing his mug down in front of him.

"Why is it that we live in the same house, and I never see you?" Hermione mused after a few moments of silence, taking the box of tea bags out of the counter and placing one in the cup. She extended the box to Harry, who took it and mirrored her.

Harry shook his head. "I don't know, I guess everything's been a little hectic with you and your work," he said, shaking his head again.

"Yes, but we haven't talked in ages," Hermione said, taking the string from the tea bag and wrapping it around her finger. She knew that it was not just because of work that had kept them from talking, which was why she had brought the topic up.

"Well, I suppose you have your…things, and I have mine," Harry said somewhat awkwardly, and Hermione wondered if he knew he was waving his wand and causing the sink to turn on and off at random intervals.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, "By 'things' do you mean Ron and Ginny?" she asked slowly, wondering if this was something Harry was comfortable talking about. It was strange, having territory they could not discuss; they had had an incredibly open friendship for as long as she could remember.

Harry sighed. "That wasn't the best way to put it, was it? Yes, that is what I meant, though I'm sure you could have said it better," Harry said, giving her a gracious smile. "It's just a little odd, you know?"

Hermione gave him a questioning look, wrapping the string tighter around her finger until it started to turn red. Harry took this as that he was meant to continue talking. "Well, you're like my sister. It's just as strange for me to see you and Ron snog as it is for Ron to see me and Ginny snog." Harry explained, the sink setting off a jet of water as he waved his wand vaguely.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said quietly. "I never really thought about it in that way," she added ashamedly. She had known Harry had liked Ginny since the beginning of their sixth year, even before he had wanted to admit it to himself. She had just assumed that because she had no trouble with him dating Ron's younger sister, he would have no trouble with her and Ron.

"You don't have to be sorry!" Harry said, a little louder. "It just takes some getting used to. I spend about four years with the two of you pretending to _not_ like each other, I just got used to it. I never thought you'd two would actually come to your senses," he joked. Hermione stepped on his foot in retaliation.

"You know, we get that quite a lot," she said, taking the kettle off of the stove and pouring boiling water into both of the mugs.

"I have no idea why," Harry said in a mock-surprised tone. Hermione pretended to hit him upside the head with the tea kettle, which Harry dramatically ducked and shouted. Hermione laughed, placing the kettle back on the stove.

"See," she said, when he finally had stood up. "This is what I miss. I hate how we can all live in one house and barely see one another."

"Well, maybe we should do this more often," Harry said, extending his hands as if to say she should pretend to scald him with kettles more often. She smiled and nodded, understanding what he had truly meant.

"I'd like that," she said, taking Fleur's mug and walking back to the kitchen. Harry touched her shoulder and she stopped, turning to face him. He put his mug down and hugged her, kissing her on the top of her head.

"Merry Christmas, Hermione," he said from somewhere a few inches above her. Hermione smiled.

"Merry Christmas," she said.

***

The rest of the evening did not go as smoothly as one would have hoped. Ron beat Percy in a game of chess, which Percy took as a personal affront and spent the rest of the night pretending that Ron did not exist. Hermione supposed that this was due to the presence of Audrey; Percy lost to Ron several times before, but Hermione thought that this time, he had been trying to impress his new bride. When the plan failed, he seemed to unfairly blame Ron, who did not take it well.

Fleur, though she now lived at the Burrow, had not yet grown to love Celestina Warbeck, whose voice now came clearly out of the radio, which had been fixed by Mr. Weasley, George, and Harry. She continued to talk loudly over the high-pitched singing, which everyone was secretly grateful for, except for Mrs. Weasley. She became increasingly bad tempered as the night wore on, though she seemed to think that she could not take it out on the girl who would soon be giving her a grandchild. She instead let out steam at odd members of the family, which ultimately manifested into a tirade on the length of Bill's hair.

Harry and Ginny also had a spat later in the night, though no one could discern what the origin of it was. They had disappeared sometime after dinner, and had returned – separately – by the time dessert was ready. There was a slight problem with seating; Ginny refused to sit next to Harry, and the two spent the rest of the night shooting angry glances at each other while trying to appear unaffected.

When they parted from the Burrow at ten o' clock, Hermione was admittedly not very sad to leave. Ginny and Harry had become almost unbearable, which was not helped by George, who enjoyed taking a break from tormenting Ron and Hermione and egg on Harry and Ginny. Hermione only hoped that once they returned to Shell Cottage, where the atmosphere was quieter and less hectic, they would be able to resolve their petty argument. Mrs. Weasley was all but chasing Bill around the house with a pair of scissors, and Fleur was shouting at anyone and everyone that she was going to have a baby soon which meant that she needed to be supervised every moment.

***

Once they returned to Shell Cottage, Hermione could almost taste the bitterness coursing between Harry and Ginny. Unable to stand it anymore, she announced that she was going to take a bath, just to get away from it all. She mused to herself if this was what Harry felt when she had Ron fought.

In the bathroom, she lit candles which she had been given as a Christmas present from her parents; she had spent last night, Christmas Eve, with the two of them. She felt a bit cliché, but they cast a nice golden glow around the walls, their flames sending tiny dancing lights onto the walls, and she quickly forgot about it. She turned the tap, which stuck a little, until the large bathtub was filled two thirds of the way with hot water. She filled the rest of the bathtub up with bubbles that she issued from her wand.

She stepped out of her closed and tentatively put her foot into the hot water. She shivered a little at the sudden difference in temperature before submerging her entire leg, then the other one. Slowly, she lowered herself into the tub, resting her neck on the lip of the cold porcelain.

She closed her eyes and let out a very long breath. It was so nice, the feel of hot water washing over her like a blanket, like a warm summer sun. From the cool darkness of her eyelids she could see the candles flickering in the half-light, their glow revealing tiny secrets of shadow.

She liked taking baths because they always gave her a good, long opportunity to think. With nothing to distract her and nothing to pull at her mind, she let her thoughts run far and wide. She thought about work and the report she had to return on Monday. She thought about her conversation with Harry, and how they were slowly all growing back together again. She thought about Ron, and how far they had come since Christmas last year; he had disappeared and left her alone and broken. Now, she thought of how his arm always seemed to make its way around her shoulder, how she liked to see his eyes before she closed her own and fell asleep. How he could kiss her softly and make her feel as though she were slowly melting, how she could smile at him and see his entire face light up.

"Hermione!" Ron shouted, banging into the bathroom, the door slamming against the wall as he entered. Hermione jumped a little, feeling slightly embarrassed; he had just interrupted her as she thought of him.

"Oh," he said softly, realizing that he had just walked in on her taking a bath. Hermione slid down a little lower, her cheeks turning a little pink. It was true that he had seen her far more exposed, but it was also true that under these bubbles she was completely and totally naked. He seemed to realize that last part too as he looked at her, his ears turning red.

"I can leave if you want," he said, his eyes pointed respectfully at the ground, though she noticed they flickered to her when he thought she wasn't looking.

Hermione shook her head. "No, it's fine. What's the matter," she said, sitting back up to her original position and pushing hair out of her face. She pointed a soapy finger to the rug in front of the tub, indicating that he could sit down if he wanted. He took her suggestion and sat down cross-legged in front of her, his eyes on the line where the bubbles met her bare collarbone.

"Is everything alright?" she asked again, partially to remind him that he had just been in a state of panic.

Ron's ears turned considerably redder. "No, everything is not alright," he said shaking his head. "Harry and Ginny made up," he said.

Hermione frowned. "But – but that's good, isn't it?" she asked uncertainly. After months of living together, she had thought that Ron had come to terms with the fact that his best friend did indeed like his younger sister.

Ron gave her a pained sort of look. "No, because they're doing it in a…a nonverbal sort of way. And it's…it's taking a long time," he said, looking both embarrassed and disgusted.

"Oh," Hermione said softly, understanding everything now. She bit her lower lip, not knowing what she should say to Ron to help calm him, or even if there was anything she _could_ say.

"I was just sitting in bed and I _heard them_," Ron said, the last two words coming out in a horrified, strangled whisper. His eyes were very wide as he look up at her. "I didn't know what to do so I came in here," he explained.

"Couldn't you just cast a Silencing Charm or that stupid one of the Prince's?" Hermione asked. She was somewhat surprised at how...well, how well Ron was taking it all. After months of trying to conceal to Ron that Ginny and Harry weren't just holding hands, Hermione was sure that when Ron found out, he would have nothing short of a tantrum now. Sitting in front of her, he looked disgusted and uncomfortable, but he did not look like he was about to go into their bedroom and wring Harry's neck. Hermione thought maybe Ron was just in shock.

"I could," Ron said slowly. "But I still would know that they're on the other side of the wall…making those…those…noises," he said, his voice barely audible. His ears were looked as though he had recently gotten a sunburn and his eyes were very wide.

"But when you're in here, can't you...don't you still…know?" she asked awkwardly. After her conversation with Harry in the kitchen earlier last night, she was finally starting to appreciate how awkward this whole situation could be.

Ron's ears turned very red. "I do… but you sort of help me get them out of my mind," he said, grinning sheepishly at her. Hermione felt her heart flutter. The reason he was not bursting through Harry's door and beating him within an inch of his life was because Hermione was sitting there a few inches away from him almost entirely naked.

"Happy to oblige," she said lightly. "Now, turn around, I'm getting out," she ordered, pointing her finger at him. There was a light in Ron's eyes that told her he would have quite liked to stay where he was, facing her, but she gave him an endearing smile and shook her head.

Dutifully, Ron pivoted around so that he could not see her completely naked as she stepped out of the bathtub. An interesting, intoxicating thought entered her mind; what if she accidently let Ron see her? But she dismissed the thought…when he did see her – and she secretly hoped that it would be soon – she certainly did not want it to be in a bathroom as they hid from Harry and Ginny. She wrapped a dressing robe around her and let down her hair, which had been piled on top of her hair, so that it cascaded around her in uncontrollable waves.

Ron turned around again and sat down on the edge of the tub. Hermione let some of the water out of the bathtub and Ron rolled his pants up to put his feet into the few inches of water she had not let out. She dipped her toes into the lukewarm water, drawing patterns of soap with her toes.

They spent the entire night in that bathroom, talking and laughing as Hermione tried to get the thought of Harry and Ginny out of Ron's head. When they finally deemed it safe to come out of hiding (Hermione had suggested going to bed about every hour, at which time Ron's ears would turn red and he would refuse) they crept back into the bedroom at four in the morning, where everything was mercilessly silent. The two collapsed on the bed, utterly exhausted. Ron fell asleep almost immediately, and Hermione fell asleep moments after him. The last thought that entered her mind was how small Shell Cottage was becoming.

~*~

_Author's Note: Ugh, this chapter was annoying because I knew what I wanted to write, I just couldn't put it down into words. I still don't like it very much, but this is mostly a gateway chapter, the next one will be more important, I have a few big things planned for Chapter 25._

_I know I've been neglecting Harry and Ginny in recent chapters, so I tried to put a bit of them in this chapter, there will be a bit more of them, and I'm planning on developing the Harry/Teddy bond, which some of you asked to see._

_I would like recognize xannalix, who has been translating my story into German, which I find to be one of the coolest things EVER! I still can't get over how awesome that is! _

_Also, if anyone is interested, I set up an email account for fanfiction. Fanfiction won't let me put it in this chapter for some reason, but it's on my profile page. If anyone would like, you can send questions, suggestions, or just say hello :)_

_Reviews would be amazing!!_


	25. Undone

_Author's Note: Thank you for all of your lovely reviews…and "lovely" is an understatement, but I'm running out of adjectives! Happy reading!_

~*~

Chapter Twenty-Five:

As December melted into January, the evident was becoming more and more obvious: Shell Cottage was simply too small to hold the four of them. It was not the _size_ of it that was small; it was the fact that the four housed in it could not keep everything under its roof. Ginny had trouble looking Hermione in the eye and Harry tried to make excuses every time Ron would walk into the room. It was simply the fact that they each knew what the other was doing when the lights dimmed and the doors were shut, and this knowledge consumed the little house, filling every corner of it.

Ron and Hermione had talked about it in hushed whispers late at night; Hermione had money from work that she had carefully been saving. Ron had saved some from the shop as well; he had begun training as an Auror, which did not reap very much, but as soon as he was through with his training he would be able to contribute. Hermione had gone to the bank after work a week back, and by careful calculations, they had concluded that they would have enough for a small flat.

The problem was telling Harry and Ginny. Hermione knew that they too felt uncomfortable, but she was still not looking forward to telling the two of them that they were so uncomfortable, they wanted to move out of Shell Cottage. It was awkward subject to bring up, and Hermione wasn't sure if Harry or Ginny would get offended by their desire to move.

The idea itself was sad as well. Shell Cottage had housed such wonderful memories; they had spent the idle days of summer here, and the echoes of their rejoiced freedom still emulated in the whitewashed walls. It was like losing a piece of her youth, leaving Shell Cottage. But as much as she loved it here, Hermione knew that they could no longer tiptoe around each other. Hermione and Ron had spent several nights hiding out in the bathroom since Christmas.

One Friday night at dinner in early January, Ron cleared his throat and everyone looked up at him, expectantly. Hermione found Ron's hand under the table and gripped it tightly, trying to help him as he embarked in what was sure to be a slightly awkward conversation. She glanced at Harry and saw him lock eyes with Ginny.

"Erm, we…Hermione and I…we've been thinking," Ron said quietly, his voice carrying in the silent kitchen.

"Really?" Ginny said, trying to bring some humor into the stiff silence in the room. "I thought that was just Hermione's job," she joked.

Ron gave her an angry look. "Ha, ha, how _original_. Actually, I am capable of thought as well. And we both have been thinking that it might be time to start something…different," he said, and Hermione saw Harry glance at Ginny again.

"We've been thinking the same thing," Harry said softly, his eyes fixed on the open window beyond them, the grey waves crashing on the rocks and falling broken back into the sea.

"Have you?" Ron said, slightly taken aback. "Well, then this isn't so bad after all, we thought you two would be offended," Ron said, audibly sighing in relief.

"Offended? By what?" Ginny asked curiously, her eyes flickering from Ron to Hermione and then back again.

"We've been thinking about finding a flat," Hermione said. She felt Ron's eyes on her as she said this.

"You're joking!" Harry said, his eyes flying from the window and looking at the two of them.

"No… why?" Ron asked uncertainly.

"We were thinking the same thing!" Ginny said, looking just as relieved as Hermione felt. "And we thought you two would be offended when we told you, seeing this is Ron's house and all."

Ron laughed weakly. "So basically we've both been planning on telling the other the exact same thing, and we've both been dreading that the other will be angry?" he said.

Ginny sat back in her chair. "That just about sums it up," she said, taking a sip of water and looking at Hermione. "Have you found a flat yet?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, we wanted to tell you two before we started looking. Have you two found one?" she asked.

Ginny shook her head as well. "No, we're going to look this weekend; I don't have practice and Harry doesn't have work."

Ron rolled his eyes, "We were planning on doing the same thing," he said exasperatedly.

Harry laughed. "But what will happen to Shell Cottage, if we're both planning on leaving?" he asked, his voice turning serious.

Ron bit his lip, thinking. "Well, we didn't really talk about that, since we thought you two would be staying here…I guess one of us can stay here, since we were both thinking of leaving," he said.

Hermione thought to herself. As much as she loved Shell Cottage, she was ready for somewhere new. This place would always be a part of her, but the thought of moving to a place that was just hers and Ron's was exciting. She glanced at Ginny and Harry and knew that they were feeling the same way.

"Well," Ron said, understanding everyone's expressions. "I was thinking – I'd have to ask Bill first – but I was thinking about seeing if Percy wanted it. He's still at the Burrow with Audrey, and he said things are a bit cramped. This place would be perfect for them; he told me he and Audrey want to focus on their careers for a bit, they don't want kids right away. Mum almost kicked him when he told her," he said.

Hermione nodded in agreement. A calm, peaceful place might be good for two workaholics who spent most days on edge about finishing reports and getting papers in on time. Though admittedly she could not see Percy lounging at the beach (such idle time was surely a waste) she thought maybe a little calm could do him some good. George constantly joked that Percy would get grey hairs before anyone else in the family.

"Well, it's settled then, that's one awkward conversation adverted," Harry said, grinning. Ron laughed in agreement, and then yawned widely. Auror training was long and grueling; it was eight o' clock now, and Hermione knew that he would be asleep within the next two hours. From across the table Hermione saw Harry blink sleepily, trying to stay alert and awake. Ron, a terrible morning person, usually arrived at work just on time, often counting on luck and fate to get him there when he was supposed to be. Harry, eager to please and rise in the Department, arrived at work with several minutes to spare, often starting the day a half hour earlier than his peers. Hermione could not help but admire his persistent drive.

"We should get to bed, especially if we're going to have busy days tomorrow," Ginny suggested, looking at the fatigue on the two boys' faces. Hermione nodded in agreement and began collecting dishes to wash. Ginny hastened to help her, carrying a stack of dishes to the sink and turning on the water. Once the table was clear, Hermione took a clean towel from the drawer and began drying the dishes Ginny washed. They fell into a comfortable rhythm, the sound of the water filling the quiet between them.

"I'm going to miss this place," Ginny said after several minutes of silence. Hermione jumped a little; she had taken the silence to think to herself, and she had almost forgotten that Ginny was standing next to her.

"So am I," Hermione agreed, handing a dish back to Ginny because she had missed a spot. Ginny rolled her eyes and scrubbed at the dish dramatically before rinsing it and handing it back to Hermione.

"I knew we weren't going to stay here forever, but still…I've grown rather attached to it all the same," Ginny continued, turning slightly to Hermione.

Hermione nodded. "I was thinking about that at dinner tonight. It's going to be exciting, finding a new place, but it's going to be hard leaving this one," she said.

Ginny made a little sound of agreement, "Do you know where you and Ron are looking?" she asked, handing Hermione a glass and then taking a bowl.

Hermione shook her head. "Not really. We're looking in London, because it'll be close to work, and it's a little isolating, being here in the middle of nowhere. We know we can't go anywhere too extravagant though, my salary isn't large, Ron doesn't make much now with training and all," she said.

Ginny nodded. "We were thinking the same thing; I make next to nothing since I'm second string, so we're basically working off of Harry's savings. It's enough to get somewhere nice, but he doesn't want to spend all his money," Ginny said, frowning as she tried to get a resolute bit of food off of a fork.

"Are you looking at flats in London?" Hermione asked, her voice slightly raised as Ginny turned the water higher, still fighting with the fork.

Ginny nodded. "Harry wants to be close to the Ministry, like Ron," she said, finally winning with the fork and handing it to Hermione.

Hermione nodded, because she didn't know what else to say. They lapsed into silence again as they washed the seemingly endless pile of dishes. After a long while of silence, Hermione heard Ginny laughing softly. She stopped her drying and turned to her, a look of confusion on her face.

"I don't understand, what's funny?" she asked, the damp towel clutched in her fist. Ginny turned to her, biting down on a smile.

"Listen to us, we sound like adults, talking about flats and work and living together," she said. "When did that even happen? When did we grow up?"

Hermione was silent for a little while, contemplating this. When _had_ she grown up? She felt as if she had been grown up forever. She was always the responsible one, the sensible one, the one who knew what the right thing to do was, and did it even if the other option was more fun. Had she missed something? Lost something she never had?

"I feel like I've always been an adult," Hermione said truthfully and Ginny laughing, giving her a knowing look.

"Well, of course _you_ would say that. But really, when did our conversations turn into houses and jobs? We're still teenagers, we're not _supposed_ to be talking about this," she said, throwing up her arms in defeat.

"I guess a lot of things changed…with everything going on and all," Hermione said softly. Ginny's smile faded a little, but she nodded in agreement. She finished with the last dish and handed it to Hermione, who dried it and put it away. The two turned off the lights and made sure everything was in its proper place before heading upstairs to bed, the conversation still echoing in each girl's mind as they said good-night.

***

Hermione forced Ron out of bed the next morning at ten o' clock, a time he deemed indecent to be functioning. Ginny and Harry hadn't woken up yet; they were going to look at apartments later in the day. Ron grumbled about this, complaining that it was unnecessary to be awake before the sun had risen (the sun had risen several hours ago, of course, but Hermione did not press this point). Instead, she turned a deaf ear to him until he had showered and became more agreeable; there was no point arguing with him when he was completely irrational.

They arrived in London at eleven, a bit later than what Hermione had wanted, but she did not dwell on this. The simple fact that they were looking for a flat – just the two of them – seemed to fill her up like hot air; she was incapable of being angry or flustered. She looked over at Ron, standing next to her on the sidewalk, his face slightly bewildered as people rushed by them on their way to work.

"I forgot there were so many people," he said as his shoulder was jostled by a very aggressive looking woman in a dark suit. Rubbing his shoulder, he scowled at her, but she had already moved past them. Hermione laughed in agreement; after spending a few months at Shell Cottage, she had forgotten what it was like being surrounded by people. It was nostalgic and overwhelming at the same time.

Being Hermione, she had done her research – and quite a bit of it – early, and she held in her hand a list of venues to look at. They were close to the first one on her list, so she took Ron's hand in hers and began to fight their way against the current of people.

The first flat looked promising; it was in a nicer part of the city and was relatively large, considering their limited budget. They looked through each room, Hermione's careful eyes scanning for anything that would stop them from renting the flat. The last room they looked at was the kitchen, which had a large window that opened to the next building. Ron frowned a little; the view was not ideal, but really, it would be hard to compare to the open sea. Hermione joined him at the window, looking down at the street several floors below.

"Oh, bloody hell," Ron exclaimed, his eyes wide as he looked out the window. Hermione's eyes followed his and she gasped, covering her mouth with her hand to keep from laughing. On the same level in the next apartment building over, there was a man whose curtains were wide open, exposing…well, quite a bit. The man did not seem to find a need for any clothing at all.

"Absolutely not," Ron said shortly, turning quickly from the window, his ears very red. "I'm not going to spend every morning eating breakfast and getting a good view of some man's…business," he said, taking Hermione's hand and leading her out of the room. Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing.

The second flat was a few blocks away, and Ron refused to even step inside the room, because there was a spider on the staircase. The third flat looked over into a dumpster, and the smell was horrible. Waiting for the elevator in the fourth flat, a man standing next to them winked at Hermione. Ron immediately seized her hand and led them out of the building cursing under his breath, his ears bright red again. The fifth flat had paper-thin walls; they could hear a television set from one side and a crying baby from the other.

By the time they reached the sixth flat, Hermione was starting to feel discouraged and Ron was noticeably short tempered (he had been ever since the incident with the fourth flat). After this there was only one more apartment on the list, and Hermione closed her eyes as they stood in front of the door, hoping with all of her might that this one would be the one.

"Sixth time lucky, you think?" Ron asked as he opened the door and let her in first. Hermione let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan.

It was perfect. Hermione knew it the second they walked through the door. They would not be visiting the seventh flat. The air of the place seemed different; it was automatically homey and welcoming. The front door opened to the living room, which seemed to be the central part of the flat. The living room had a large bay window, which gave an excellent view of the River Thames. Off of the living room was a quaint little kitchen, painted a cheery blue. The bedroom also led off of the living room. It was a small, bright space with a pair of French double doors leading to a balcony. Ron stepped outside, and happily announced that there was not a single spider or scantily-clad man.

Hermione stood in the middle of the living room, her arms wrapped around her waist as if she could contain everything she was feeling. Ron soon joined her, giving her an expression that mirrored how she felt. They had found it, their first home.

"I think this is it," Hermione said softly, and Ron nodded. He reached for her hand and took it in his, squeezing it gently. She returned the pressure, smiling happily and looking around the little flat.

She could practically feel the happiness beating in his pulse as she clutched his hand. She looked up at him, his blue eyes dark and shining as he observed the room around them.

"I think this is it," he repeated softly, confirming her. He squeezed her hand gently again, then released it, putting an arm around her shoulder and bringing her closer to him. She felt him as he leaned his head on the top of hers. She tilted her face up to his and he kissed her forehead.

"Welcome home, Hermione," he said, and she felt the world spin around her as the happiness flooded her brain, leaving room for nothing else.

***

Ginny and Harry hadn't returned by the time Ron and Hermione got back to Shell Cottage. Hermione started to make dinner; with Ron trying his best to help (the private lessons had not helped much, mainly because there was very little teaching in them). In the end, he gave up and kept her company, which she didn't mind at all. Since his talents for cooking were so limited, he found it incredible when she could do things without causing disaster, which meant he complimented her continuously on simple things like mixing salad without sending most of the lettuce over the edge of the bowl.

Harry and Ginny burst into the room at six o' clock, and their faces told Hermione that they too had found a flat as well. The chicken was ready, so they all sat down for dinner, Ginny so happy she could barely sit still.

"We found the perfect flat," Ginny said, bouncing up and down in her seat, "It's amazing!" she said and Harry nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

"I don't think so," Ron said smugly. "You have to see the one we found. It took a little while, but it was worth it," he said, unable to resist the sibling rivalry, something he very rarely won at.

Ginny gave him a skeptical look. "Where's your flat?" she asked challengingly.

Hermione took out the slip of paper with the list of addresses. "55 Nichols Road, apartment fifteen," she read out.

Harry choked, and Ron thumped him hard on the back until he stopped coughing. Ginny sat there, her mouth half-open, her eyes wide in disbelief. Hermione looked between Harry and Ginny, her eyebrows furrowed. "What's wrong?" she asked hesitantly.

Wordlessly, Ginny took out a small square of paper from her pocket and held it in front of her. "55 Nichols Road, apartment sixteen," she said in a hushed sort of whisper.

Ron groaned loudly. "You're joking, that's…"

"The flat across the hall from yours," Harry finished his sentence, still massaging his throat. Hermione sat dumbstruck, not knowing how to respond to this new information.

They all sat in a stunned sort of silence. Hermione remembered – with a sudden, dull jolt in the pit of her stomach – that the flat across the hall had been vacant as well. they were planning on looking in that flat after, but they had fallen in love with number fifteen, and had completely forgotten about it. Not that it would look any different.

"Well," Harry said after a painfully long stretch of emptiness. "At least I know I won't go hungry," he said, and Ginny threw her napkin at him.

"You had better knock," Ron said pointedly. Harry laughed it off as a slightly uncomfortable joke about his two best friends shacking up together, but Hermione knew better. She knew that Ron was very much looking forward to finally having a place where doors locked, Harry and Ginny could not butt in, and not to mention walls that were thick enough to block out sounds you _never_ wanted to hear your younger sister utter.

***

The next week passed in a flurry of boxes, masking tape, and frantic searches for object that had been lost ages ago. They had been here for less than a year, yet they seemed to find belongings everywhere. Hermione had found – much to her amazement – a stack of forgotten comic books slipped in between the crack that separated the kitchen cabinet from the wall. She had returned them to Ron, who had said in utter bewilderment, "Where did those come from? I didn't even think I _had_ them anymore."

Ginny had had a similar experience a few days ago. It was after dinner and she was getting last-minute packing in. She barged into the bedroom with a black t-shirt in her hands. She held it out to Hermione, who was vainly trying to reach something on the top shelf of the wardrobe.

"Is this yours?" she asked, holding out the shirt for Hermione to examine. She looked at it, and then handed it back to Ginny.

"No, sorry, it's not mine," she said. Ron walked in just then, and Ginny held the shirt out to him.

"Does this belong to you?" she asked. Ron held the shirt out in front of him; it hardly looked as though it would make it over his head.

Ron rolled his eyes and handed the shirt back to her. "Yeah, that's my favorite shirt; I've been looking for it for _ages_. Where did you find it?" he asked sarcastically. Ginny turned a little red, but didn't rise to the occasion.

"Well, it's not mine and it's not Harry's, I've already asked. If it doesn't belong to either of you, then whose is it?" she asked, and Hermione shook her head, equally confused.

But there wasn't enough time to concern themselves with shirts that seemingly did not belong to anyone and comic books that had surfaced after years of disappearing. Ron was not very good when it came to packing; his preferred method was waiting until the last minute and hoping everything went smoothly. It was driving Hermione mad; she wanted everything planned and ready for when they moved out.

But no amount of nagging and arguments could get Ron to do it, which was why they found themselves shut in the bedroom at eight o' clock the night before they moved, with Ron running around, grabbing things at random and throwing them into whatever box he was closest to. Hermione, who considered this pandemonium her revenge, sat perched on a pile of boxes, watching as he ran around the room, looking stressed and muttering to himself under his breath.

"I told you that you should have…" she said smugly.

"Drop it," he snarled, cutting her off as he dropped a pile of clothes onto the bed.

Hermione crossed her arms. "There's no need to snap at me, it's not _my_ fault you've waited until the last minute and now you've realized you actually can't pack an entire house in a night," she said loftily.

Ron paused in his marathon around the room, crossing his arms as well. "That's right, Hermione," he said. "Why don't you just remind me for the hundredth time that you are so much better than me. Because that's _really_ what I need right now."

Hermione jumped off the stack of boxes, her expression a little wounded. This was not how she pictured spending her last night in Shell Cottage. In her mind, the lighting was dimmer and she wasn't wearing as much.

"Fine," she said, her voice rising too. "Fine, Ron." And that was all she could get out because she stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind her. She went to the kitchen, because she didn't know where else to go. She intended to make a cup of tea and skulk over Ron, but then she remembered that she had packed the mugs and the teabags earlier that day. So she sat at the kitchen table, feeling slightly stupid as she brooded by herself, with nothing hot and steaming to calm her.

"I'm sorry," said a soft voice by the door. Hermione jumped a little; she had not expected for him to come so soon. She did not say anything, he deserved that much. Instead, she crossed her arms and looked out the window to avoid looking at him.

Ron sat down next to her, resting his arms on the table and looking at her, she could feel the weight of his eyes. She continued to stare resolutely out the window.

"I'm sorry for being such a prat," he said, his voice respectfully softer and low. He stretched out his arm and put his hand over hers. She didn't pull away.

"Are you done packing yet," she asked, still looking out the window. It was taking all of her effort not to look at him.

"Yeah," he said a little sheepishly. Now, she couldn't help but look at him. She had hardly been gone thirty minutes, and by the state of their room, he would need twice that to finish packing.

"You can't be," she said disbelievingly. "There was still so much left to do."

"Ah, well, it turns out I'm quite an efficient packer when I don't have my… distractions," Ron said, grinning at her. Well, there was no hope now. Her anger was completely dissolved, but she didn't let him see. She wouldn't give up _that_ easily.

"Distractions?" she asked rather coyly. She could see his ears had turned pink, even in the moonlight.

"I don't know how you do it, but you managed to look….sitting on that box…well," he said slightly awkwardly. "I couldn't pack because I – I couldn't stop staring at you," he said, and she smiled. No, she couldn't be mad at him now.

"I was right though, wasn't I?" she asked, because she hated to lose an argument. "I was right, you should have done it earlier and then we wouldn't have argued and then we wouldn't be…"

Ron didn't let her finish, he leaned over the table and kissed her softly. When they broke away, he was barely holding back a smile. "Yes, Hermione, you were right. You're always right. After so many years, it really shouldn't come as a surprise," he said, teasing lightly. She opened her mouth in mock-anger, but stood up from the table, taking Ron with her. She led him back up the bedroom where everything was – miraculously – packed.

Ron pointed his wand at the lamp so that it dimmed a little. The sudden change of lighting sent Hermione's heart racing. She could feel it beating against her eardrums as she perched herself on the bed, drowning in the sea of white. Ron came and sat next to her, pushing back her hair as his lips found hers.

She could feel his hands on the edge of her shirt as he gently lifted it over her head, throwing it to the side as their lips parted momentarily. She took his lead, taking his shirt in her fists and pulling it over his head. She could feel his hands on the small of her bare back; there was something different about tonight. They were gripping her harder, passionately, his long fingers running up and down her spine.

She had her hands on her chest, and they began to move, seemingly on their own accord, lower and lower until they stopped at the waist of his jeans. Her lips still on his, she began taking it off, and he broke away from her, looking down at what she was doing.

"Hermione," he said, and there was something of a question behind the whisper. She looked up at him, into his deep blue eyes that seemed to hold more longing than she had ever known was possible. "Are you _sure_?" he asked.

She smiled fleetingly as she managed to get the buckle undone. "I'm sure," she said, tossing it over the side of the bed where it met his shirt on the floor. Ron's face split into a grin. He leaned toward her, tracing a pattern of kisses on her neck and jaw until they finally reached her lips.

Her pants joined the heap of clothing on the floor seconds later. Hermione felt so happy that her head began to spin and she felt dizzy. With her eyes closed, she momentarily forgot where she was and how to stay upright. She fell into Ron a bit, who broke away and looked down at her, concerned.

"What's the matter?" he asked, his hands running through her hair. She loved the feel of it. It was the best feeling ever.

"I…I just…" she said, but she did not know how to finish because there really were no words to describe how she felt. The sudden rush of emotions, the sudden rush of _life_; there was nothing she could say that could possibly tell him how she felt.

She kissed him slowly, her teeth brushing his lower lip as she broke away because she knew it drove him mad, and she knew it would make him moan softly, a sound that seemed to fill her heart and made her mind go black and fuzzy.

She leaned against him more, and he lost his balance, taking her with him as he dissolved into that sea of white. She did not pull herself back up, or make hasty, uncomfortable comments. She made no movement to move away and stop, and neither did he. Her heart was pounding so hard it blocked out the sound of the sea, and she wondered fleetingly if Ron could hear it.

After what seemed like hours, they broke away, Hermione placing one knee on either side of Ron so that she was…well, straddling him. She hardly had a moment to consider her audacity before Ron sat up as well, so that she was sitting on his lap, facing him.

"That," Ron said, "was honestly the best, the most wonderful…"

But Hermione didn't want to stop. There was a curious pulsing in her veins and she could not stop now. She pushed her hair out of her face and laughed softly, her fingers tracing swirling patterns on Ron's arm. He looked down at her fingers, then back at her face.

"Is it your goal to give me a heart attack?" he asked hoarsely. She laughed again and shook her head. "Well, if you keep on carrying on like this I'll be dead before we even have a chance to move into the flat," he said.

She paused for a moment, looking into his eyes. "So I should stop?" she asked, and her voice was slightly cracked as well.

Ron's eyes widened. "Bloody hell, no. Whatever you do, _please_ don't stop."

She bit her lip happily and kissed him again, that pulsing beating wildly as her lips parted and his hands played with her hair. As time wore on they moved down slower and slower until finally, they reached that place where skin met lace.

She broke away, and Ron looked instantly regretful. "I'm sorry Hermione, I just…" but he did not finish because she was shaking her head.

"You – you want to?" he asked, and his voice came out horribly anguished and strangled. For the first time, Hermione realized exactly how long he had been waiting to do this. How long _she_ had been waiting to do this.

She nodded (speech wasn't coming as easily as it should) and she could hear Ron draw breath. "You're sure. You're absolutely positive," he asked cautiously, and there was so much care in every syllable that she could feel her heart breaking, pounding even harder.

"I've never wanted anything this much in my entire life," she said truthfully, and she rather thought she could hear Ron's heart breaking as well.

What he did next shocked her and made the pulsing in her veins beat even harder. He took her hands, which were around his neck, and gathered them in his. Then, he slowly placed them over his heart. She could feel it beating violently against his ribcage, and the beat was the exact same one as hers.

"You do this to me," he said softly. "Every single day, every single time I look at you, every single time I think of you," he said, as she felt his heart beat against his fingers. "I want you to know that," he said, his voice gravelly and deep.

She wanted to cry, because it was tender and sweet and so utterly unlike him. She wanted to cry because she could feel his heart beating hard against her hands and she could feel hers and the two beat together, as if they were the same, laced together by the waves of the sea beyond. She wanted to cry because she had never felt like this before. But she did not cry, because it would ruin the moment, and her brain was focused on not throwing herself on Ron and scaring him.

He took her hands and gave them back to her. She wrapped them around his neck, and again they fell back onto the bed, only this time it was entirely purposeful. Ron's hands were cupping her face as he kissed her, and she could feel them shaking slightly as they began to explore her body, running over her hip and her legs.

And then, she broke away, and it almost killed her to do it. Ron looked panicky as he looked up at her, some of her hair falling into her eyes.

"Are you okay? Do you want to stop?" he asked, his voice telling her quite clearly that this was the very last thing he wanted to do.

She did not answer his questions. "I love you," she said, looking deep into his eyes, finding him and holding him close to her heart.

His eyes got darker as his ears turned a little pink with happiness. "I love you," he said. "But if you keep on breaking this up I might have to throw myself off the cliff."

She laughed softly and lowered herself back down, which was hard to do because her arms were shaking. Her whole body was shaking with the rush of emotions coursing through her, and that curious pulsing that did not seem to ever go away.

Without their lips parting, Ron brought the covers around them so that all she could see was white and the red that was Ron's hair. They rolled over so that Hermione was looking up at Ron now. She felt as his hands ran from her hip to her waist, then up her arms and to her face, tracking the soft curve of her body. She was breathing hard now, her chest rising and falling. She let out a soft sound as Ron kissed her on the neck. She squeezed her eyes shut as he kissed her again and again, his lips finding the soft skin that made her shiver with happiness. They rolled over again, and Hermione was lying completely on top of him, and she felt his hands play with the lace that just graced her lower back. They were still shaking, she could feel it.

And she was undone, completely undone in the beauty and perfection of it all. And she could feel Ron's shaking hands on her back and her chest and her hair and everywhere. And she could feel the cool air as she arched her back, every part of her body touching every part of his. And she thought she might have died, because surly it was not possible to feel like this and still be on earth. And she thought that their small sounds that mixed in the air would never leave her ears, ever. And she wanted to scream or yell or shout out, anything to release some of this. And she could feel Ron's heart beating with hers as they groped at each other with the slow infatuation of having so much time and the fast passion of never having enough. And she had never loved so deeply, so wholly. And then she was alive. Not living, but truly, wonderfully, amazingly alive.

~*~

_Author's Note: Ah, finally; the confirmation that Rose and Hugo were not test tube babies! I've been dreading doing it because it was honestly the hardest thing to write EVER. I wanted to say "and then it happened" but that would be SO disappointing and it really wouldn't do them justice. I wanted to save it for a meaningful moment; their last night in Shell Cottage seemed fitting…it was like a loss of childhood innocence or something. It was so nice coming home after taking the SATs and just writing with nothing academic to think about. _

_About the flats, I always knew they'd move out, but I thought it would be funny if they all accidently rented in the same building…kind of like "Friends" (I love the show). Is that idea alright?_

_On a completely unrelated note, I've written a one-shot called "What Happened in the Chamber". Yeah, the title's a bit self-explanatory. If anyone has a moment I'd love it if you could read/review it! _

_Reviews for this chapter would be amazing!!_


	26. Unexpected

_Author's Note: If you are still reading this, thank you so much for sticking with me! I'm so sorry I haven't updated in two weeks! School has been crazy, I've had practically no extra time. I hope you all enjoy the chapter!_

~*~

Chapter Twenty-Six

All in all, it was not how Hermione envisioned spending their first night at the new flat. Stretching her back and readjusting her legs, she tried to ignore the biting feel of the cold porcelain tub on the back of her neck. And as hard as she tried, she just couldn't get the sound of Ron vomiting out of her head. She cringed as he got sick again, then pointed his wand at the toilet and Vanished the contents.

They had moved into the flat that morning; it had gone much smoother than Hermione predicted. She enjoyed packing without magic because she liked the methodical, organizational nature of it. Unpacking wasn't the same, and they had decided to do the rest by magic, though they had to make sure no neighbors had come in to say hello and witnessed belongings flying out of boxes on their own accord. They had finished ten minutes after arriving, and spent the rest of the day basking in the freedom and happiness of finally having a place of their own. At around dinnertime, however, Ron realized he had an exam the next morning and dashed off to the bathroom, which he had not left for the last three hours. At first Hermione had thought the pale blue of the walls were pretty, now she was getting sick of them. She hadn't left Ron's side, deftly refusing his dismissals to go across the hall and join Ginny and Harry in what was sure to be a more celebratory evening. She had refused every time; saying she'd much rather be with him, even in his current state. She had a lot of practice with Ron's nerves; though she had thought that in the last year, he would have gained more confidence in himself.

Looking rather green, he leaned back on the wall adjacent from her and rested his head, closing his eyes and groaning. He looked pale and sweaty, how he did before a Quidditch match. Hermione positioned herself so that she was closer to him, and took his hand in hers. At her touch, his eyes fluttered open and he managed a weak smile.

"I bet you're having second thoughts now," he croaked, squeezing her hand in his.

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. "About what?" she asked, putting her hand on his shoulder as he swayed dangerously. He didn't look her in the eyes out of embarrassment.

"About doing this. About me," Ron mumbled, still not looking at her.

She shook her head vehemently. "Not at all," she said truthfully, gazing up at him, and this time he looked at her. His smile became stronger, then his eyes widened and he lunged forward, just making it to the toilet before being sick again. Hermione watched his bowed head, his long arms gripping the porcelain for support. After a few moments, he sat back up, joining her back on the wall.

"Are you sure you're not?" he joked feebly. Hermione shook her head a second time.

"Not at all. But what I don't understand is why you're so nervous?" she asked, taking his hand in hers again.

Ron closed his eyes a second time. "We have a test tomorrow, Stealth and Concealment. It's not like school; where if you get a bad mark its not a problem. In the Auror training program, if you pass the exam, you get to move on to the next...level, I guess. If you don't…they ask you to leave...which is a nice way of saying they kick you out of the program," he moaned. He lunged to the toilet again, and then sat back against the wall, shaking his had and saying, "False alarm."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Just like that? One exam and they dismiss you?" she said incredulously.

Ron nodded, laughing humorlessly. "There's a reason why the Auror Department is so exclusive, and why so few of them make it. They keep on cutting until there are only three or four left," he said softly.

"Well," Hermione said bracingly. "I'm sure you'll do fine. Think of all the others trying out, you've had more experience than the lot of them put together!" she said, smiling at him. He tried to return it, but it faded away like smoke.

"Hermione, it's _Stealth and Concealment_. No matter how much experience I've had, no one else needs to attempt to conceal _six foot three_," he groaned, and threw himself at the toilet again, nearly missing before he got sick.

"Harry's got it easy," Ron continued, as if there had not been a break in their conversation. "He's only five foot nine. But me? How the bloody hell do you sneak around when you're six foot three. I don't understand why I had to be so tall," he pouted. Hermione tried hard to bite back her laughter.

"You'll be fine, I know you will be, I have complete faith in you," Hermione said reassuringly, rubbing his arm supportively.

Ron shook his head vehemently. "No, Malfoy was right all along; what's the use of even trying, all I'll do is make a fool of myself. I'm too tall to _exist_, Hermione," he said dramatically. It appeared that he believed in some of what he was saying though; he turned slightly green again, and dove at the toilet, nearly hitting his head before he got sick.

"Oh, Ron," she said hopelessly as he coughed. She did not know what else to say to him, or what possibly could make him feel better. "You're really, really good. You'll do well, I know you will," she said soothingly.

"Hermione," Ron said, sitting back against the wall, his head tilted at an odd angle, closing his eyes again. "Would you still love me if I failed the test tomorrow, got kicked out of the Auror Program, and had to work for Magical Maintenance?" he asked melodramatically.

Hermione laughed. "I'd still love you if you were on the reserve team for the Chudley Canons," she joked.

Ron laughed, opening his eyes and giving her a searching yet comical look. "Really? I don't think _I'd_ even be able to like myself if that happened." He laughed then rubbed his eyes and added, "Jesus, I'm tired."

Hermione nodded in agreement; they had not slept at all the night before. She remembered their conversation vividly:

…

"_Hermione?" Ron asked softly into the darkness from somewhere very close to her. She had rolled onto her side, and she could feel his chin resting on her shoulder. She turned around so that she was facing him. She could see his eyes in the darkness and she leaned into him, pressing her bare torso against his._

_Hermione couldn't help but smile at the sound of his voice. "Yes?" she whispered, and she was surprised to hear that she was speaking softly._

_"What do we do _now_?" Ron asked, and Hermione covered her mouth with her hand to keep from laughing. Of course he would ask a question like that. The problem was, she didn't know how to answer. She wasn't sure what you were supposed to do…after. Somehow, that part hadn't been brought up in the birds-and-the-bees conversation._

_"I don't know," she said truthfully, trying to keep her voice under control. "In films…well…they just sort of…go to sleep," she said, trying very hard not to laugh._

_"What! Go to sleep? There's no bloody way I can sleep after _that_!" Ron cried indignantly, and Hermione really did laugh this time. He was right; it would be impossible to sleep when they had just…well, she didn't think she would be able to even close her eyes, she was so filled with happiness._

_"Yes, it seems rather unlikely," she said lightly, kissing him softly on the cheek. "But what do we do instead?" she asked, lightly running her finger up and down his arm. His silence told her exactly what he would like to be doing, and she smiled into the darkness._

…

The sheer happiness of it all, of the finality, had kept them from sleeping. Hermione had vainly suggested trying, but she knew it would never happen. Her brain was racing so fast, and she still had that pulsing feeling in her veins. It had been the first time since last year when they went camping that she had not slept all night. This time was different; they did not stay awake out of fear, they stayed awake because they were too happy, too _alive _to sleep. They had just discovered the most wonderful secret in the world; sleep seemed like a terrible waste of time.

"Should we go to bed?" she suggested, picking herself up off the floor and stretching; the cold tile had been quite uncomfortable, but she hadn't complained once. Ron followed her, slightly unsteady on his feet and gripping the wall for support. Clutching her hand, he followed her into the bedroom.

"Hermione," Ron said, his voice slightly muffled as he pulled his shirt over his head. "I was thinking, what's the harm: not sleeping two nights in a row? And besides, I don't need my sleep; I know I'll fail tomorrow," Ron said, kicking his shirt aside and grinning.

Hermione scrunched up her nose. "You are _disgusting_. You just got sick about ten times, and you want to…"

"I feel loads better now," Ron interrupted, his expression earnest.

Hermione shook her head as she got into bed, pulling the blankets close to her chin. "Absolutely not. There must be some twenty-four-hour rule for vomiting or something," she said, feeling herself sink a little as Ron got into bed next to her.

"I've never heard of a rule like that," Ron said in mock-grumpiness before extinguishing the lights and settling in next to her.

***

Twelve o' clock the next day saw Hermione sitting in her favorite corner of the library, the familiar stacks of heavy volumes surrounding her like impregnable walls. She had a heavy book propped on her legs and was trying to balance the book on her knees as she wrote, which was proving to be very difficult. She had already overturned her inkwell twice, which she had hastily repaired.

Hermione had been right; this was the perfect job for her. She loved spending her days sitting here in the old library with its high ceilings and thickly carpeted floors. The room was filled with high bookshelves crammed with rows and rows of leather-bound books begging to be read. She loved the smell of their old parchment and secrets.

Will rarely joined her in the library; he said it freaked him out, the monotony of it. Usually he dashed around picking up books at random and carried them back to his desk while Hermione worked away in her little corner. She didn't mind at all; years of solitary studying at school had prepared her for this. But she couldn't deny that it got lonely sometimes, and _quiet_. She could practically hear the silence beating down on her, as inescapable as sun.

Making sure she wouldn't trip over her walls, she stepped over the tower of books and placed the book she had been reading back on the shelf above her. She struggled to put it back; the shelves were crammed and once a book was taken out, the rest were very reluctant to return to being packed tight.

"Hey," a voice whispered, and she felt something soft brush the back of her neck. She couldn't help it; she reacted instinctively. She turned on the spot, the heavy book still in her hands, and swung it at whoever had just crept up behind her. She had been alone for the last four hours, and she was very unaccustomed to having other people near her while she worked.

"_Jesus_! Bloody hell, why the hell did you _do_ that?" Ron shouted, staggering back and clutching his head. Hermione let the book fall out of her hands with a sharp _bang_ as she clasped her hands to her mouth in shock.

"Oh my…Ron, I'm so sorry…I didn't…" she said, rushing towards him and gingerly touching the spot where she had hit him. He was leaning against the far bookshelf, his hands holding his forehead.

"You're really strong, did you know that?" Ron said grumpily, taking his fingers off of his head, as if examining for blood. "I think you broke skin," he exclaimed.

"Oh, stop," she said guiltily. "It wasn't that hard, was it?"

Ron looked down at her, though he did not seem angry anymore. "Yeah, it was!" he said indignantly.

"Well," she said, spluttering. "I wasn't expecting anyone and you just came up from behind me, didn't you? Why are you here, anyway?" she asked, taking the book from the floor and cramming it onto the bookshelf.

Ron's eyes lit up. "I wanted to tell you: I passed!" he shouted the last two words, his voice echoing around the silent room. Hermione could hear someone jump and drop their book a few isles over.

She gasped. "You passed the exam on Stealth and Concealment! I _knew_ you would!" she cried, crossing the small distance between them and leaping into his ready arms and he hugged her tightly.

"Yeah, I did really well. I guess I'm good at sneaking around," he said, raising his eyebrows and pointing to the bump on his head where she had hit him. "But I guess you figured that one out yourself just now," he added and she felt her cheeks grow warm.

"Alright, fine. I'll make it up to you. What would you like," Hermione said generously, still feeling guilty; the bump was swelling rather rapidly.

Ron's eyes widened as he told her without words exactly what he would like, and she shook her head. "No, twenty-four-hour rule, remember?" she said, crossing her arms as she read his expression.

"Hermione," Ron groaned. "Just think about it. I just passed my Stealth and Concealment exam – one that seven people failed, mind you – and now I have to go back with this huge bump on my head and tell everyone that my girlfriend did this. Because I can get through Death Eaters and beasts Hagrid wouldn't even touch, but I couldn't make it past all five foot four of you. Do you know how humiliating that is?" Ron said theatrically. Hermione bit her lip; he was making it very hard for her to say no.

But she shook her head. "You were sick last night, and…"

"Yeah, out of _nerves_, I'm not genuinely _ill_," Ron interrupted, drawing himself up to his full height. She crossed her arms, though she did have a point.

"Yes, Ron but…" she said softly, not having an argument. There were no _rules_; she had just made them up on a whim last night, and now they were back to haunt her.

She was also battling something inside her head, though she knew she would never tell Ron what it was; he would tease her incessantly for it. In all of her long hours in the library with only the dusty volumes for company, she had formulated something of a…well, a _fantasy_ in her mind. It made her blush to think about it; surely you were not supposed to think of such things at work. She had imagined Ron coming in here in his work clothes and they would be together in the silent library, just the two of them. Somehow, it always commenced with her taking his tie in her fist and leading him toward her, because she found it alluring, though she would never actually do it. It was a terribly cliché thing to do.

But he was right _here_, right in front of her. He was practically begging – no, he _was_ begging – to fulfill those trivial little fantasies she had been playing out in her mind for months. And why was she saying no? Because of some stupid little rule she had made up last night.

She took a step closed to him, and his eyes darkened with excitement. He ran a hand down her back as hers curled around his neck.

"I brushed my teeth twice since then," he added as her face was less than in inch from his.

"How romantic," she whispered, rolling her eyes and then kissing him.

It was wonderful, even better than she had imagined and she hadn't done the ridiculous tie thing. It was purely the fact that they were in a library – they were at _work_ – that made it heated and passionate. They were in a place where they were expressly not allowed to do exactly what they were doing. Ron's euphoria of passing the exam and her heightened tension of breaking employee rules mixed as they gasped for air. Hermione briefly wondered if someone a few rows over would hear them and report them, but then Ron slid his hand up her shirt and she forgot that there were other people in the world, much less the library.

"Her – oh! Er…sorry," said a voice from very, very far away. The two broke away and Hermione hastily fixed her shirt and Ron ran his hands through his hair. Will was standing in front of them, his cheeks bright red, and his eyes cast down at the ground.

"Oh," Hermione said helplessly, looking at Ron, then Will, then Ron again. She didn't know what to say to either of them, or how to possibly make the situation any less awkward.

"I just needed to return the book I borrowed last night," Will said, speaking to the paisley-printed carpet at his feet. Hermione nodded even though she knew he could not see her. She watched helplessly as he shuffled around her to put the book back, his eyes still not on either of them.

"Erm, Ron, this is Will. Will this is, um, Ron," Hermione said shakily, because Ron was looking at the young man with bewilderment. As Hermione made the introduction, Ron's eyes lit with recognition. He stood up, seeming to enjoy that he was a full head taller than his enemy – the Man Who Worked With Hermione.

"Hey," Ron said challengingly, his voice much deeper than it normally was, and holding his hand out to Will. Will took it, though he still did not look at Ron. Hermione thought this might be for the best; Ron was sizing Will up as a boxer might evaluate his opponent. Hermione winced as she saw Ron grip Will's hand tighter than was natural.

An awkward sort of silence passed between the three of them. Then Will looked up, and said to Hermione, "Well, I have a meeting now, Brinkley asked me to sit in and take notes, so you can take your lunch break if you want," he said, and she started a little. It seemed that Will's tactic was to pretend that nothing had happened and he had not just walked in on the two of them. Hermione took his lead because it was better than any other option.

"Perfect," she said, hitching her bag over her shoulder. "I just finished the last memo for Burrns, so I'll get something to eat before I start on the new one. I just got one from Madam Houghton, and you know her, it'll take at least the rest of the afternoon," she said, fully and uncomfortably aware of how Ron's eyes had darkened with jealously as the two of them spoke in a language he did not understand.

Will picked up his bag, which he had evidently dropped when he walked in on the two of them. Hermione watched as Ron's eyes widened as Will secured the fastening. "What's that?" he asked, pointing to one of the many buttons on Will's bag. Hermione hoped with all of her might that it was not a Tornados badge; she thought Ron might lose all control and attack if it was.

Will's cheeks turned a little red. "Er, it's a Cannons badge," he said, trying to move it out of sight. Ron's mouth dropped open in surprise.

"You don't support them, do you?" he asked incredulously.

"Maybe I do," Will said defensively. "What's it to you?" he added, straightening his back and vainly trying to lessen the six inches Ron had on him.

"I've been a Cannon's fan since I was five!" Ron said excitedly, and the air between them changed instantly. Hermione groaned. "I can't believe you support them," he continued. "Hardly anyone does anymore, not that many people ever did."

Will nodded enthusiastically, "I've always supported them; Dad said it was a waste of time. He's a bit sore though; my uncle Frank played for the Cannon's, and Dad always wanted to play, so I guess he just got a bit jealous.

Ron's eyes widened. "You must be joking. You're related to Frank Owens?" when Will nodded, Ron let out a low whistle. "That is so cool, he was a pretty good player," he said, and Will grinned.

"I'm going to take my lunch break," Hermione chimed in, but neither appeared to hear her. Rolling her eyes, she walked right between them, muttering, "Boys and Quidditch," and left the only two Cannon supporters to talk animatedly.

When she stepped onto the pavement, she blinked back tears as the bright rays of crisp winter blinded her. She made her way to her favorite café, a small shop less than a block from the Ministry. It was the ideal place to go; it was quiet so she could do extra work and they had tea that almost rivaled Mrs. Weasley's.

She sat down in her favorite table, a small four-seater in the corner near the window. She ordered a large cup of tea and pulled a worn book out of her bag and started to read. No one else was in the café; it didn't get much business and Hermione thought that if it weren't for her extremely generous tips, the place wouldn't stay open.

She was so immersed in her book, with the warm steam of the tea heating her face that she didn't look up when the tinkling bells on the door chimed, announcing that someone else had come in.

"I vould like one coffee please, black," said the person who had entered, and nothing but that voice and that accent would have made Hermione look up from her book.

Viktor Krum was standing three feet away from her, his arms rested on the counter as he waited for his drink. Hermione jumped, dropping a book for the second time that day and diving under the table to retrieve it. When she surfaced, she had caught his attention and he was looking at her in disbelief.

"Herm-own-ninny?" he said, stunned, pronouncing her name in the way that had so irked Ron. Hermione smiled weakly as he walked over to her. She motioned to the empty chair opposite her and he sat down, never taking his eyes off of her. He was making her feel slightly uncomfortable.

"How are you?" she asked slightly breathily, her nerves making her voice a little high-pitched. Her subconscious imagined Ron sitting in a chair in between the two of them, slouching in a chair and acting all surly as she got flustered.

"I am vell, and you? I heard so many stories about you the last year. Apparently you broke into a bank and vent camping around the vorld!" he said, leaning back in his chair as if to admire her better. Hermione felt her cheeks grow warm.

"Well, yes, that all happened, but I wasn't alone," she said rather lamely. How on earth was she supposed to sum up the last year and a half in the fifty minutes she was allotted for lunch break? "What are you doing in London?" she asked in a transparent attempt to change the conversation.

"Ah, just some interviews. Some magazine vanted to hear me talk about my life," Viktor said sarcastically, and Hermione smiled. This, at least, they could both understand. Hermione had gotten a lot of press recognition since last May. "You look beautiful," he added. The imagined Ron in the chair near her pulled a face and made a threat under his breath. Hermione almost laughed aloud.

Hermione smiled. "Thank you. I'm working, actually. I'm at the Ministry now," she said proudly, trying to steer away from his compliment and fully aware that her desk job would not impress a famous Quidditch player, no matter how much he liked her.

"That sounds vunderful. And do you like your job?" Viktor asked, leaning forward in genuine interest. He was making this so much harder for her.

"Yes, I do," she said, nodding. "I actually just moved to a flat in London yesterday, I was staying…somewhere else. I'm closer to work now," she said evasively.

Viktor raised his eyebrows. "You have a flat? All alone in the city? Von't you get lonely? I vould be lonely if lived alone in a flat."

Hermione's heart picked up; he had created the perfect opportunity for her. "Actually, I'm not living alone, Viktor," she said.

He nodded, "It's that boy, isn't it? The von at the vedding? The von vith all the red hair, no? You are living vith him?" He did not sound angry; rather, he sounded as though he expected it.

Hermione nodded. "I am, yes," she said softly.

"I alvays knew it," Viktor said sagely, and Hermione looked up in surprise. He gauged her reaction and sat back in her chair. "I could tell by the vay he looked at you at the vedding," he said, and Hermione blushed at his bluntness as he rendered her temporarily speechless. The imagined Ron looked slightly embarrassed yet also very pleased and proud. Hermione knew what it meant that she was picturing Ron sitting here between them. And she knew what she had to tell him.

"Viktor," Hermione said softly, and Viktor's dark eyes had a knowing look to them.

"I know vhat you are going to say. Ve can't see or talk to each other anymore, am I right?" Viktor asked, and Hermione bit her lip, nodding.

She did not know how she could possibly explain it to Viktor. How no matter how many times she told Ron that she loved him, no matter how many times she kissed him or took his hand in hers, there would always be Viktor Krum. The one who had asked her first, the one who had kissed her first. She had seen Ron get jealous of Will a few minutes ago; she had seen him envy a boy she had never had feelings for. It was just the way Ron was: always slightly insecure and doubtful of his own abilities; not to mention incurably jealous. To Ron, Hermione knew, Viktor Krum represented everything he wasn't: rich, famous, and the first one to kiss Hermione. And Hermione knew that as long as she talked to Viktor, Ron would still be jealous. He would always be a reminder of what Ron had been too afraid to do. And even though those years were past, she knew that Ron would never stop hating Viktor Krum.

"I understand," Viktor said simply, and Hermione looked up, surprised.

"You do?" she asked incredulously, and Viktor nodded.

"Of course I understand. If I vere him and he vas me, I vouldn't vant you to see me either. I vould vant to throw the past avay," Viktor said with that same simple finality.

"And you're alright…with that?" Hermione asked slowly, and Viktor nodded again. She smiled and stood up, putting her book back in her bag and taking her mug.

"Yes, I am fine. You are not going to tell him you saw me, are you?" he asked knowingly.

Hermione shook her head. She would never tell Ron that she had seen Viktor Krum. She did not know why, but it seemed like the sort of thing that should remain between the two of them. No, she wouldn't tell Ron about this conversation.

"Well, it was really nice seeing you Viktor, I hope…I hope everything goes well for you," she said, hating herself for the lump that had grown in the back of her throat.

Viktor smiled and tilted his face toward her. "I hope everything goes vell for you too. I hope you are very happy with him," he said, and Hermione beamed.

"Goodbye," she said, leaning down and kissing him briefly and chastely on the cheek. Then she turned to go, leaving Viktor Krum and all of Ron's past insecurities behind.

~*~

_Author's Note: I am so sorry this took so long; I feel so guilty! I had a few versions of this chapter – originally it was going to be their moving day and the next chapter would center around Will and Viktor. However, I began writing that and it turned out to be really dull so I rewrote it; part of the reason why this is so delayed. The italicized bit in the beginning was how this chapter was supposed to start. I liked the idea of Ron asking that kind of question (it seems like a Ron thing to do) so I kept it._

_I actually like this chapter. I know, I'm usually so insecure with my writing, but I actually like this one! The AMAZING reviewer urbanmama gave me the idea to make Will and Ron friends and I really liked the idea. I also added the end part with Viktor because I thought he deserved some closure : ) Oh, was my accent alright? I wanted to sound authentic, so I used the Yule Ball chaper of Goblet of Fire a lot! I've read a few fanfictions where Viktor's accent was a mix of his and Fleurs, so I wanted to make it as close as J.K. Rowling's as possible, but I'm not very good with accents so I hope it's alright!_

_Please review if you can!_


	27. Victoire

_Author's Note: A million thank yous to everyone who reviewed! Happy reading!_

_~*~_

Chapter Twenty-Seven:

January passed in a flurry of snow and marbled sky, day and night coming so close together that the sun hardly ever came out. Hermione was starting to forget what color the sky really was, the azure of Australia that was so deep it had seemed to absorb her into its endlessness. She missed the smell of the sea at Shell Cottage, and the way the ocean would pound on the rocks. They had not realized its steady beat until it was gone and the sound of the ocean was replaced by the sound cars and trains. However, even though she missed Shell Cottage, she wouldn't trade it in for their flat. They had been here hardly two weeks and already it felt like home: her encyclopedias next to his Quidditch magazines, her high heels lined up next to his scuffed boots in the closet, her photographs of her parents hanging on the wall next to his Cannon's poster. The cadence was perfectly disjointed and harmonious, just like them.

On the first Friday of February, Hermione left work early, stepping out onto the pavement where a light snow was falling, turning grey in the city air before it fell at her feet. She was overcome with the urge to tilt her face to the murky sky and let the snow fall on her tongue, but she resisted, bowing her head and following the current of the many people rushing to get home after a week of work, too tired and busy to be taken by such a simple beauty like snow. As much as Hermione hated herself for being one of them, she had good reason to be.

Since she and Ron had moved into their flat, they had not been able to fully "consummate" their new home. Ron had been sick their first night there, and when he came home from work, he had just about enough energy to take off his shoes and collapse on the couch. Most nights, Hermione curled up next to him, taking off his jacket as he slept and pulling a blanket over them. It wasn't ideal, but at least they didn't have to worry about Harry or any of the Weasleys walking in on them.

Tonight, though, they had decided it was going to be different. Ron was getting off of work earlier than usual, and they were going to lock the door and cast as many Silencing charms as they possibly could. Hermione began walking faster as she thought about it, which caused her to step on the heel of the man in front of her, who turned and gave her a very dirty look. The bubbly feeling in her chest prevented her from feeling embarrassed by his expression.

When she got to the flat, a block away from the Ministry, she shrugged off her coat and lit a fire in the small fireplace. Then, she walked to the kitchen and began taking things out to bake a chocolate cake. They had decided that on this very special night they would not need to eat dinner; cake would suffice. As Ron had said, what else did they possibly need?  
She was just putting the cake into the over when she heard the door bang open. She turned around to see Ron, looking very disheveled with his hair windswept and his cheeks pink. She bit her lip to keep from laughing.

"Did you _run_ here?" she asked, her voice shaking a little as she tried not to laugh.

Ron didn't look embarrassed at all. "Of course I did," he said, grinning and taking off his jacket. He put it over the chair, and Hermione didn't nag him to hang it up.

"I baked a cake," she said, very conscious of how he was looking at her. Ron crossed the few steps between them and kissed her roughly and passionately on the lips. He was cold from outside and Hermione could feel the snow in his hair.

"To hell with the cake," Ron said hoarsely, wrestling as he tried to take off her shirt and his own at the same time, ending up tangled and very confused.

Gently, he pried his hands off of the hem of her shirt and lifted it over her head so that he wouldn't rip it in his eagerness. "I thought you wanted cake," she said softly, running her finger lightly up Ron's arm. His eyes grew wide as he watched her finger.

"I changed my mind," he said croakily. "I want _you_."

They didn't make it to the bedroom, but ended up on the sofa once again, only this time Ron was very much awake, and the air was cold on her bare back. The sofa was so narrow she was scared they would fall off; Ron's feet hung over the end and she gripped him even tighter to make sure that he would not topple over. He was lying on the sofa and she was sitting on top of him, one knee on either side of his hips. Slowly, she leaned forward and drew a line of kisses from his chest to his lips. She could feel him shiver at her touch, his hands caressing her back. Everything that had happened two weeks ago came crashing back as they kissed, becoming careless in their passion and excitement; Ron had been trying to do the zipper on Hermione's skirt for ten minutes. She was about to take pity on him and do it herself…

"Oh!" said a very loud voice, and once again they were in the library; unable to escape from anyone. Ginny was standing in the middle of the living room, a hand over her eyes, though it did not cover the flaming red of her cheeks.

Ron sat up so quickly that Hermione almost fell off. Realizing their position, she jumped off the sofa and put her hands over her chest, feeling all of the sudden very exposed in her bra and skirt.

The scene was horribly frozen like this; Ginny standing in the kitchen, her face making her hair seem dull; Ron, sitting openmouthed on the sofa in his boxers and nothing else; and Hermione standing in between them, half-dressed and feeling extremely awkward.

Ron seemed to wake up from this strange scene. Seizing the object nearest him (his shirt) he threw it at Ginny, who ducked and raised an eyebrow at him.

"What the hell are you doing here? I thought we told you you'd better bloody knock when you wanted something?" Ron shouted, anger spouting at once as he got up and stood next to Hermione, his ears bright red.

Ginny's eyes glazed with anger, "Fine. You two have at it. I'll tell you when you're an uncle, alright?" she said coldly.

It took Ron a few moments for this message to sink in, and then he jumped up, gesticulating wildly as words failed him, his eyes wide. "Fleur's having the baby?" he shouted at last, his voice just as loud, though the tone was completely different.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "No, I just wanted to come here for the entertainment. _Yes_, she's having the baby," she said with cold sarcasm, and Ron's ears darkened. She turned from them and walked to the door. "Hurry up and get dressed or you'll be late and Bill won't name you godfather," she trilled jokingly, and then shut the door behind her.

Ron and Hermione frantically picked up their clothes and tried to look as though they had not been doing what they had just been doing. Ron was muttering to himself, though Hermione did not know if he was cursing Ginny, or talking excitedly of the new baby. They grasped hands and Disapparated, Hermione only slightly regretful that they were leaving their evening behind in their wake.

***

Hermione hated hospitals. She had only been to a hospital twice in her life: once when she was eight and her grandmother had died, and the second time when Ron's father had gotten bitten by the snake. She hated the way you had to talk in hushed voices, even if you were going for something pleasant, like a visit or a new baby. She hated how the lights glared and how they made her feel sleepy. She hated the stiff chairs which made her uncomfortable no matter how she sat.

Most of all, she hated how there were no colors. She hated the white walls and the white tile of the floor. She hated the pale faces of the Healers who passed by, always hurrying, their faces set in thick lines of worry.

This was why she had been holding Ron's hand ever since they had arrived nearly an hour ago. They had joined the rest of the Weasley's in the sitting room outside of Fleur's wing. The five of them: George, Ginny, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, were huddled in one corner as Mrs. Weasley and Audrey shuttled from Fleur's room to the sitting room. Mr. Weasley, Percy, and Charlie hung back, all three uncertain of how they should act. Every five minutes or so Bill would poke his head out, cry, "Still nothing!" cheerfully, and then disappear behind the door again.

Fleur screamed loudly again, the sound of it resonating in the little sitting room. Hermione shuddered at the sound, gripping Ron's hand even tighter.

"Don't they have potions or something for that?" Ron asked in a very horrified whisper.

George rolled his eyes. "Fleur didn't want to take any. Bill told me a few days ago. She didn't want anything magic because childbirth is something _natural_ and can't be _tainted_," he said, his sarcasm punctuated with a few of Fleur's screams.

"Yeah, I bet she's wishing she had thought better on that one," Harry said darkly, and Ginny shot him a reproachful look.

They fell into silence, which was poked sharply every few seconds with Fleur's screams and shouts in French, most of which Hermione guessed were words Mrs. Weasley punished Ron for saying.

"Has anyone contacted Fleur's parents?" Hermione asked them after a few minutes, just to break the awful silence.

"I don't think anyone needs to. I think they can _hear_ her from there," Ron said, earning him a glare from Ginny and an eye-roll from George.

"You know," George said playfully, "It's really you're ability to empathize and understand others that makes me miss working with you, Ron," he said.

Ron, who had slouched low in his chair, shot George a look, then asked, "Have you hired someone else then?"

George nodded. "Yeah, I hired Angelina," he said. "She came into the shop a few days after you left looking for a present for her nephew, and I ended up hiring her in the end," he said, shrugging, though no one took this appointment lightly. Angelina had known Fred well; giving Angelina the job had not been the mere whim George was making it out to be. Noticing the four understanding looks they were giving him, George stood up uncomfortably and muttered something about getting a glass of water before disappearing down the hallway.

The four of them were now huddled in the corner of the sitting room, and the clean, cold air of the hospital turned sour with discomfort. Ginny shuffled her feet, and Hermione knew she was thinking of the scene in the living room. Harry, blissfully oblivious, did not notice the sudden change in the atmosphere, and picked up a magazine on a nearby table, ruffling through it uninterestedly before setting it down on the table again.

Very little happened in the next few hours as the sky beyond the misted little window darkened, contrasting starkly with the harsh light of the hospital. Fleur's parents and sister came as soon as they had received Mrs. Weasley's owl, though no one had seen either Madame Delacour or Gabrielle since; they hadn't left Fleur's side. Hermione got up and paced a few times, wincing every time Fleur would let out a particularly drawn-out cry. Bill kept on coming in to announce the lack of news. Ron had taken out the Deluminator and had been clicking the lamp on and off, though no one seemed to notice. Ginny fell asleep on Harry's shoulder not out of tiredness, but out of sheer boredom.

Finally, after five hours of sitting and waiting, Bill tumbled into the sitting room, the broad grin gracing his scarred face telling them that finally, there was news.

"It's a girl," he cried, "It's a beautiful, healthy little girl!" and the room erupted at once. Charlie rocketed out of his chair and threw himself at Bill, hugging him tightly. Percy joined them, thumping his older brother on the back. Mr. Weasley blinked happily, his eyes bright. George just stood there slightly dumbstruck, as if he needed to let everything sink in. Ron let out a roar of happiness and sprinted across the short distance of the sitting room, launching himself into the huddle of his brothers. Ginny jumped up and down happily, hugging Harry and wiping tears from her eyes. Hermione, whose eyes were also quite wet, laughed shakily and wiped away her own tears.

"Well," Bill said from under Ron's arm and above Percy's elbow. "Do you all want to see her or not?" and he opened the door to Fleur's room to let them all in.

Fleur was sitting propped up in bed a small bundle of pink blankets in her arm. Her cheeks were very pink and her hair fell softly around her shoulders. Mrs. Weasley, Madame Delacour, Gabrielle, and Audrey – who had become very close to Fleur in the last few months – were all huddled around the bed, their necks craned to get a better look at the new baby.

"Of course she would look great after having just given birth," Ginny muttered to Hermione, who laughed in agreement; Fleur did look nice, considering they had all listened to her scream as though she were being tortured for the last five hours.

With so many of them and such a small room, there was a mad dash to get to the best seats closest to the baby. Hermione perched herself on Ron's chair, which was near the foot of the bed. George, who had come in last, had to make due with the windowsill.

"So," Charlie said impatiently, "What's her name?" he asked.

Bill turned to Fleur, who turned her large blue eyes to the rest of the room, acknowledging their presence for the first time, as if she had not heard all of them come in. Bill shook his head and gave her an endearing smile, then said. "Her name is Victoire," he said, and the whole room seemed to sigh at the pretty name.

"We 'ad a deal," Fleur said, her voice a little hoarse. "If ze baby was a girl, I would name 'er. If ze baby was a boy, Bill would name 'im. So it eez lucky she is a girl, because Bill would 'ave picked Bilius," Fleur said cheerfully, her eyes never straying from the bundle of pink in her arms.

Ron's ears turned red and he scowled. "There's nothing wrong with the name Bilius," he muttered darkly, but Fleur appeared not to have heard him.

"Why Victoire?" Mrs. Weasley asked softly, her face glistening with tears of joy.

"Eet means 'victory' in French," Fluer said, her eyes locking on her mother-in-law. "I wanted to name 'er in memory because she was conceived on ze morning of ze battle," Fluer said matter-of-factly.

Mrs. Weasley looked mildly shocked at the origin of the name; she smiled faintly, her eyes wide. Ginny merely looked disgusted and pulled a face, while Harry tried to be mature, but failed to smile genuinely. Ron, the perpetually immature one of the group, merely pulled a face and said, "That is more information about the two of you than I ever wanted to know," which earned him a disapproving look from his mother and a light slap on the arm from Hermione.

Fleur reluctantly let go of Victoire so that her many aunts and uncles and grandparents could hold her. Charlie, who was named godfather, held her first, spilling quite a few tears onto her flushed skin. Fleur looked as though she was trying very hard not to make a face or pull her baby away. Hermione watched as Ron anxiously awaited his turn; he was leaning forward in his chair, his eyes never straying from the person who was holding Victoire. Because of the sheer number of them, they passed Victoire around in accordance to age, which meant Ron had quite a while to wait.

George passed Victoire to Ron, who very cautiously took her in his arms and leaned back in his chair so that Hermione could see the new baby as well. She was tiny and pink and slightly wrinkled, her small chest rising and falling as she slept. The light dusting of hair that she had was strawberry blond, and although they could not see her eyes, Hermione could bet that they would be Fleur's blue.

Ron titled his face up so that he could look at Hermione. Grinning broadly, he said, "Look, Hermione. I'm an _uncle_!"

His glee, his raw, unchecked happiness, made her heart swell in her chest, and she wanted very much to kiss him, but she quickly controlled herself. She smiled warmly, "I know," she said softly and earnestly.

To lessen the pounding feeling in her heart that Ron had given her, she rested her head on his shoulder. She was sitting on the arm of the chair, but with his height, they were level.

"Arthur and I got married when we were eighteen," Mrs. Weasley blurted out suddenly, her eyes on Ron and Hermione.

Ron nearly fumbled Victoire before regaining control. Hermione realized that with her head on his shoulder and the baby in Ron's arms, they must look like a little family. Mrs. Weasley had turned red, but she hadn't stopped staring at the two of them, which was making Hermione feel a bit uncomfortable. Ginny had stuck her fist in her mouth to keep from laughing, and Harry had an expression that clearly read sorry-but-at-least-it-isn't-me. Everyone else was wearing expressions of varying embarassment for Ron and Hermione.

Ginny broke the tension by getting out of her chair and taking Victoire from Ron. "Right, you've had her long enough. Share, won't you?" she said loudly, and Ron looked a little dazed; Hermione was sure he was thinking about what his mother had just said.

They didn't leave St. Mungo's until five in the morning, Disapparating into the misty sky where darkness was just starting to meet day. Hermione could feel the weight of their sleepless night hang heavily behind her eyes, and she wanted nothing more than to climb into bed and sleep for the rest of the day.

The flat was bathed in the dull, city light of sunrise, turning everything dim and silvery. Hermione looked at the half-baked cake she had taken out of the oven before they had left. It had collapsed in the middle, batter oozing out of the sides and down the tin as it stood sadly on the counter. Ron's eyes followed hers, and then he seemed to get an idea. Coming up behind her, he wrapped his arm around her waist, resting his head on her shoulder so that when he talked, she could feel his breath in her ear. It made her tingle all over with excitement.

"You know," he said. "Somewhere in the world it's still last night," and she felt her spine quiver as she lost all feeling in her toes. She turned around to face him, his arms never leaving her. His nose was less than in inch from hers, his eyes, dark and deep, only on her.

She did not say anything, but kissed him deeply instead, all of her answers in that kiss. He responded eagerly, pulling her shirt over her head and kicking off his shoes simultaneously. She pressed herself closed to him, and she heard him let out a little groan of happiness that took all the breath from her chest.

This time, they made it to the bedroom.

~*~

_Author's Note: I'm using "fade to black." I'm pretty sure you all know what happens next, but use your imagination because I'm not describing it!_

_I know this chapter is a little bit off-canon, and I'm sorry for that. I know that in the "real Harry Potter universe" Victoire is born on the anniversary of the battle which is why they name her Victoire. However, since I had Fleur find out she was pregnant in June, I thought I would rather do something a bit un-canon than have Fleur pregnant for eleven months!_

_Also, just a clarification from the last chapter. Ron wasn't going to have lunch with Hermione, he was just popping in to say he passed the exam. A few of you were upset that she "ditched" him. I didn't even think about it like that; he was talking to Will and having a great time, I didn't think he'd feel badly about her leaving. Anyway, sorry if some of you didn't like that! _

_Enjoy the fluff of this chapter, next one is going to be a little…darker._

_Please, please review! It brightens my day, and we've had so much rain recently!!_


	28. The Last Thing He Said

_Author's Note: Thank you all for your amazing reviews! Sorry this post was a little delayed; it was originally going to go up yesterday but my computer lost the document so I had to write it all over again!_

_Get your chocolate out, I ditched the fluffiness for a chapter, and like I said, it's a bit sad (sorry, 'dark' was the wrong word to use in the last AN, people took it the wrong way). _

_Enjoy!_

~*~

Chapter Twenty-Eight:

The weak city sun poked through the thin cotton curtains, bathing the bedroom in the half-light of morning. Hermione stirred, throwing an arm over her eyes to block out the sunlight. She vainly clung to sleep, though she could feel it slipping away like water through fingers. Eyes still closed, she woke up in inches, slowly reacquainting herself to her surroundings. The right side of her face was pressed firmly into the pillow; she knew this because she always slept in the same way. Ron slept on the right side of the bed and she always faced him, so he was the last thing she saw before her eyes closed. It sounded horribly cliché in her head, but she couldn't help it; it gave her comfort knowing that he was always there, and would be right there when she opened her eyes again.

She knew that he would still be asleep; she could tell by the grey light in front of her eyelids that it was early in the morning. Ron hardly ever woke up before noon on weekends; if he had things his way, he wouldn't go to work before two in the afternoon. Smiling to herself, she slowly slid across the bed to where his warm body would be. Although spring was finally ascending in the city, the mornings were still cool, and she couldn't think of anything better than curling into him and feeling his arm around her.

But he wasn't there.

She was on his side of the bed now, and her eyes snapped open, all traces of sleep blinked away. She sat straight up, clutching the blankets to her bare chest; they hardly ever slept in pajamas anymore. She looked around the bedroom, her eyes scouring every corner. Her heard was beating quickly now, and her head was spinning.

"Ron?" she called out, her voice small and uncertain in the silent flat. She did not know why she had done it. She knew, though she didn't know how, that he was not in the flat. She could sense it, maybe, she could feel that he wasn't here.

She picked up her dressing gown from the floor where it had been discarded last night; specifically, where Ron had discarded it last night. She wrapped it around her body, as if the cold, unfriendly silk could comfort her. She padded into the living room, which was just as empty as the bedroom had been. She tried calling his name again (perhaps he hadn't heard her) but he did not answer. She hated herself for sounding so pitiful and…lost.

_He would have left a note_.

This thought entered her mind as she stared around the empty living room. She had no idea where he was, or why he had left; it was Sunday morning, and they usually spent a great deal of Sunday morning in bed. It was hardly past nine now, and she tried to keep her heart under control, but it wouldn't obey her. Ron wouldn't have left unless something terrible had happened. And surely he would have left a note.

She tore up the flat looking for that note. She tore off every pillow on the couch, she threw all of the contents out of the drawers and opened every cabinet in the bathroom. She pulled the blankets off of the bed and took out every single article of clothing from the wardrobe. But there was no note, no slip of parchment explaining where he and gone and why. As she searched, she became more and more hysteric. She hadn't realized that she had not been breathing, that her toes were numb and her fingers were cold. As she tore through the flat looking for his note, she began breathing fast, her eyes blinking furiously as she refused to let the tears in her eyes fall.

She walked back into the living room and collapsed in the middle of the floor, her face buried in her hands. Her heart rewound to winter two years past, when he had left her without an explanation, standing outside the tent in the rain. _No_ she told herself; _it's not like that. Don't think like that_. She wiped her tears angrily and bit her lip to keep herself from crying again. She through to herself, twisting a piece of hair around her finger as she thought of what to do next.

She could go and talk to Ginny, who was right across the hall. But she quickly dismissed this idea. Talking to Ginny would mean that she would have to discuss a whole list of possibilities. She would have to think about things she was trying not to consider. Talking to Ginny meant thinking about what really was happening, and at this moment, Hermione wanted to keep reality at bay.

She could go see her parents, but she quickly shunned this idea as well. Her father would storm around angrily and curse under his breath while her mother would hold her hand on the sofa, her face carefully aligned into folds of sadness. Hermione didn't want that either, she didn't want pity. She wanted to know what was happening.

What she really needed was rationality. She wanted to know what was happening without someone talking to her in a hushed voice. The answer came to her: she would take a walk. A walk was a perfectly rational thing to do. She would clear her mind and think things through. And when she got back, Ron would be there. Because he hadn't left, he hadn't…_no_. She wasn't going to think about it.

Left.

The word echoed in her mind, reverberating and filling her brain. Her breathing hitched again as fresh tears cascaded down her face. Left. Gone. She picked herself up off the floor and pulled on the first things she found: a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt of Ron's. She knew she shouldn't wear it, she knew that she should put something else on, but she couldn't. She pulled the sweatshirt over her head and sobbed a little harder; the smell of Ron was everywhere, but she couldn't take it off.

She stormed out of the flat, slamming the door behind her. It was a childish thing to do, but it was the only object that couldn't give her a pitying look. She was about to walk down the hallway when something caught her eye. It was a small square, posted on the door just under their flat number, fifteen.

It was a piece of parchment, worn and wrinkled, the kind one finds in the very bottoms of pockets or book bags. She froze, turning slowly and staring in disbelief at the piece of parchment that was attached to the door. With shaking fingers, she pulled the note from the door and held it in her hands, a lifeline. She blinked down at the piece of parchment that was covered in Ron's messy scrawl. For a few minutes she could not read it; her mind was so filled with relief and anticipation there was no room for anything else.

_Hermione – __  
__I'm sorry I didn't wake you up, but you looked so beautiful I couldn't bring myself to do it.  
__Love,  
__Ron_

She read it through several times, blinking tears out of her eyes as she read the lines over and over again, trying to make sense of them. She gave a weak sort of laugh and leaned against the wall to keep herself standing. But then, as soon as relief washed over her, anger followed. This note explained nothing; she still did not know where he was or why he had left. She could picture him now, dashing out of the flat and then realizing as he shut the door behind him that he should probably leave her a note to tell her not to panic. She could picture him scrawling a message on a bit of parchment he had found in his pocket, quill between his teeth as he attached it to the door.

And he had left it on the wrong side of the door. Who left a note on the _wrong side_ of the door? Ron, that's who. Anger coursed through her veins as she realized how many pointless tears she had shed looking for a note he had put in the wrong place. How scared she had been, how worried. And it had been here all the time.

"_Ron_!" she bellowed at the top of her voice, releasing some of the anger. But as soon as she shouted, she regretted it. Embarrassment began to settle in as people stuck their heads out of their doors to see who on earth was shouting. Hermione turned pink as people shot her accusatory looks, though she did not have an explanation for them; she knew she must look stupid standing in the hallway in a large sweatshirt and screaming. Harry stumbled out, his shirt on backwards and his slippers on the wrong feet.

"Hermione," he groaned, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes blearily. "What the _hell_ are you doing? You know it's only nine, right? The rest of the world was sleeping!" he said, putting his glasses back on and giving her a look.

Her cheeks turned hotter as she mouthed worthlessly for an explanation. "I…Ron, he…I woke up and…here," she said finally, shoving the note into Harry's hand. She watched as he read it, and he too turned red. Hermione immediately wished she had thought better of it. She could practically feel Harry's embarrassment as he handed her the note without looking at her, his eyes adverted. He looked as though he had intruded on something private, as if he had seen something personal, something he wasn't supposed to see.

People began shutting their doors as they concluded that Hermione was done screaming and nothing interesting was going to happen. Harry and Hermione, now alone, stood in the middle of the hallway, the weight of the note between them. Harry was looking resolutely at his feet, his face still red.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Did he tell you anything about where he was going? It just so unlike him to just leave like this," she said, trying hard to leave the discomfort behind them.

Harry finally looked at her, then shook his head. "He didn't tell me anything. I have no idea where he…" but he broke off, his eyes widening. Hermione watched him apprehensively, every nerve on end.

"_What_?" she asked impatiently.

"Hermione," he said slowly. "What is the date today?" he asked.

"W-what?" she said, taken aback, not expecting this. She thought hard; on weekends the days seemed to blend together, there was no need to count them. "Well, Thursday was the twenty-ninth, because I had a meeting so today must be the…"

"First of April," Harry finished for her grimly.

Hermione's heart dropped out of her chest. The first of April, of course; it explained everything, it explained why Ron wasn't here. Today was George's birthday, the first birthday he wasn't going to share with Fred. All anger dissipated, Ron was more important now. She knew why he had woken up so early, why he hadn't told her where she was, and why he had put a note on the wrong side of the door.

"Oh no," she said softly under her breath, biting her lip and crushing the note in her fist. "I have to go find him," she said, though her mind was blank. She did not know where he would be, there were so many places he could disappear to.

"I'll help you," Harry said, running his hand through his messy hair. Hermione shook her head, and Harry looked slightly taken aback.

"No, you can't. You have to stay here, for Ginny. I'll…I'll go and find Ron," she said, and Harry nodded in agreement. He stood there for a moment, then patted her awkwardly on the back before opening the door of his flat and disappeared behind it.

Hermione stood in the hallway in front of her flat, thinking hard. She did not know where Ron would be; there were so many places where he could disappear if he wanted to. She thought of the pub he and Will had gone to last weekend to talk about the Cannons. But she quickly dismissed this idea. When Ron got upset, he got quiet. The last place he would want to be was a pub or a bar. She thought of the Burrow next, but she didn't think he would be there either. With so many people, the Burrow could be just as loud as a pub.

Shell Cottage. It was where Ron had gone last time, when he had felt lost and miserable and needed to think. It had been the place he had gone when he had left Harry and Hermione. Hermione started, her breath stuck between her heart and her throat. He was at Shell Cottage.

Checking to make sure that there was no one in the hallway to see her, she turned on the spot. The smell of the salty air met her nose and she could feel the wind of the sea whip her face as she arrived on the cliff-side a moment later. She pushed hair out of her face as she looked around the small cliff.

She saw the tell-tale flash of red on the other side of the cliff, and her heart stopped beating. The crash of waves coming from all sides of the cliff was making her feel slightly claustrophobic.

She was frozen for a moment, staring at him. His back was to her, he was sitting on the edge of the cliff, his feet dangling over the edge of the rocks. Although he was far away, she could tell he was crying. His head was bowed and his shoulders hung in a defeated sort of way.

The sea had masked the sound of her Apparating, and it masked the sound of her footsteps as she walked over to him. Wordlessly, she sat down next to him, hanging her feet over the edge of the cliff. Ron didn't turn to look at her.

"Did you get my note?" he asked after a few minutes, his voice hoarse and rough. He still wasn't looking at her, and Hermione took this as a bad sign. She needed to see him, to look and him and help him.

"Yes, I did," she said simply, thinking that now would not be the best time to tell him she had torn through the flat looking for it and thought that he had left her.

They sat in silence for a long time, Ron staring out at the horizon, his eyes fixed on the line where the sky met the ocean. Hermione sat waiting for him; she knew he would talk when he was ready. She chanced a glance at him, and saw that his face was screwed up in pain, a line of tears tracking a path down his face. She reached out and took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently. He looked down at it, and then looked at her.

His eyes were broken and fragile, and Hermione had to restrain herself from touching him, kissing him. He looked so lost and alone, and it made her want to cry out; his pain was her pain. She wanted to do something for him, help him, but his eyes were searing her. They went through her like fire and ice at the same time; it was a strange sensation that made her brain feel oddly fuzzy and blank.

"I can't remember," he said in an anguished whisper. Hermione looked down and saw that he was gripping her hand so hard her fingers were turning white.

"You can't remember what?" she asked, her voice soft and barely heard above the waves, but she knew he heard her.

"I can't remember the last thing he said to me," Ron said in a whisper, and Hermione's heart broke open. She felt tears sting her eyes as she looked at him, her throat blocked by his words.

"It – everything went by so fast, Harry was there and then he was gone, and then we were fighting. And I didn't realize it until this morning, but I can't remember the last thing I said to him, or the last thing he said to me," Ron said, and he crumbed in front of her. Dropping her hand, he put his face in his palms and began to cry out loud, his sobs breaking through the sound of the waves. They carried heavily in the air, and Hermione felt her heart rip out of her chest every single time he gasped for breath. She was crying too, tears blinding her.

"When I woke up this morning, and…and I realized I couldn't…couldn't…couldn't remember. It just got me thinking. Now it's that I forget the last thing he said to me, but what will it be next time? What happens if I wake up in a few months and I forget what it sounded like when he laughed? What if I wake up on his – their next birthday and I forget what his favorite food is or something? I just…" but he broke off, his eyes very wet again.

Hermione still hadn't said anything, though she did not think she needed to. There was nothing she could say to Ron to make him feel better, but being her, next to him, could help him.

"I'm just scared, you know? I can't…I can't remember. And I've been trying, I've been trying _so hard_ to remember what he said, what I said. Because if I can't, maybe that means that one day, I'm going to lose him for good," and he started crying again. This time, Hermione gently reached out and touched his shoulder, bringing him closer to him. He rested his face on her shoulder, and she could feel his tears drip from his nose onto her shoulder.

"Ron," she said softly, and it sounded as though she had not spoken in a very long time; her voice was gravelly and broken in places. "You'll never lose him forever. There are so many people who remember Fred. There might be…details that you can't remember, but he's still here. Love is more powerful than death," she said, her voice hitching in spots as she tried to control her breathing. She needed to be strong right now, but it was so hard.

Ron nodded, tears still collecting in the corners of his eyes. "I know that, but it really got to me. I want to think it was something good. I want to believe that the last thing I told him was something…something alright. But what if it wasn't? What if the last thing I said to him was 'piss off' or 'go away'? I just…I didn't know. I didn't know I wouldn't be able to…to…talk to him again," he said, collapsing again against Hermione's shoulder as he cried. She stroked his hair, crying too as their heavy breathing matched.

"There was something else too," Ron said after a few minutes. He lifted his head off her shoulder and looked at her. He had stopped crying, though his eyes still had that broken look.

"What is it?" Hermione whispered. She was not sure if she wanted to hear it, if she could hear it. Ron's words had ripped through her soul in so many places, she was not sure if she was strong enough to hear anything else.

"When I woke up this morning, before I realized that I couldn't remember, I saw you," Ron said. Hermione realized she was holding in her breath. "Do you remember how at Fred's f-f…how George said we had to remember how he lived?" Ron said, and Hermione nodded.

"When I saw you this morning, sleeping and just looking so…I realized that it isn't right, it's not right that we have to remember how he lived. Because he really didn't, did he?"

Hermione's forehead knit with confusion. "What do you mean?" she asked, taking his hand in hers again. Ron didn't seem sad anymore, he sounded angry. He swung his legs around so that they weren't hanging off the edge anymore. He stood up and began pacing; Hermione turned to face him, bringing her knees close to her chest.

"I mean, he was _twenty_. He never got the chance to live. When I looked at you this morning, I realized how much I love you. You looked so peaceful and happy and _beautiful_, and I thought, 'damn, I would do anything for you'. And then I realized that Fred never got that. He never got to wake up next to the one person he loves more than anything in the world. He never even got the chance to find her. They say you're supposed to remember the person how they lived, well, that's for old people, isn't it? It's for people who had the chance to live. Fred didn't have that," Ron said, pacing angrily back and forth.

Hermione stood up, extending her hand, but he ignored her. She lowered it, and watched him pace; his hair on end from where he had been ran his hands through it.

"I just…I realized how unfair it all was. We get to live and he doesn't. I get to be an Auror and be with you and be _happy_, and he doesn't. And how am I supposed to remember his life when there's so much that is missing from it?" Ron said. He was shouting now, and he paused for a moment to breathe. Hermione took the opportunity to grab his hand and stop him from pacing again.

"Ron," she said. "Fred _did_ get to live. Remember all the things he did? Students are going to be talking about their break-out from school for a long time. He was a member of the Order; he got to be in the middle of the action. He might not have…lived for a long time, but he _lived_ Ron. And even if he…missed some of the things we get to have, he did live," she said. It might have been the hardest thing she had ever said; the lump in her throat was making it impossible to talk, and every word was pulling at her heart.

But something terrible happened. All of the anger that had been bursting out of him was gone; he had lost all of the fight. His shoulders slumped and he hung his head, his hair hanging down so that she couldn't see his face.

"You're right, of course. You're _always_ right," he said softly, and she almost managed a smile. She took another step closer to him and he raised his head. Their eyes connected and Hermione felt her spine tingle as he looked deep into her. He didn't look broken anymore. She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly, feeling his chest pressed up against hers, his arms around her back. "I...well, it's just that...you...what you said, it...thank you," he said softly, and Hermione smiled soflty into his chest.

They stood like that, on the cliff overlooking the sea, for a long time. Hermione lost track of how many minutes, though it felt as if time did not exist at all. Ron started crying again, and Hermione pressed her head into his neck, her head on his shoulder. She rubbed his back in comforting circles as his breathing became jagged and uneven. There were so many reasons he was crying, so many things to cry for. So she stood there with him, knowing that her presence, her arms around him, was the only thing that could help. And the wind whipped around their entwined bodies, tangling in her hair and whispering on the back of their necks, the sound of the sea crashing down on them.

~*~

_Author's Note: I realized that in a lot of "after the war" stories, people usually skip Fred and George's birthday. I always wondered what would happen with that, because it always seemed really important to me. Anyway, I won't be writing a chapter for May 2__nd__, I'm done with depressing things (I almost cried writing Ron's part here... embarrassing and strange, I know). _

_I've decided to make a promise to myself. I'm going to write responses to every review I get! I promise! This way I'll get to write something to all of you! I like doing Author's Notes at the beginning at the chapter where I use ever adjective known to man to say "thank you", but this way I'll be able to address every one of you!_

_Get ready for fluff in the next chapter; I've already started writing it. It wasn't in my original plan, but I thought it might be a good idea after this one. There's bickering as well, because I realized I've neglected it a bit and a few of you have been asking for a good, typical Ron and Hermione fight._

_Sorry to disappoint you if you thought Ron and Hermione were going to get engaged in this chapter. Honestly, though, they're nineteen, that's a bit young, don't you think? However, I spend a lot of time "writing in my head" and I have the whole scene planned out. I know how it'll work out and what he'll say and how he'll say it (and where). It's definitely not in the next chapter, but it's coming, hang in there!_

_Reviews would be great! Like I've said before, writing the emotional stuff is hard because there's a very fine line between heartfelt and just plain corny. When I'm writing chapters like this (or ones like chapter three) I try hard not to go too over-the-top. I want to be genuine without being forced. So...I'd love to hear what you all have to say! The romantic bits are hard, but I think chapters like this are the hardest!_

_Also, I just posted a one-shot called "The Line Crossed," Please check it out if you can! I actually like this one!_


	29. One Thousand Six Hundred and Twelve

_Author's Note: Whew, I got it out by the end of the week. I felt bad because I told a lot of you I would, and I had a lot of trouble with it, so this one took longer. _

_Also, I'd like to thank the reviewers whom I cannot send responses back, and all of the reviewers who sent responses back to me! I wasn't expecting that, but it was so sweet of you guys to do! I think I got to all of you, but if I somehow missed out, please let me know. It was an oversight and nothing personal!_

_I hope you enjoy the chapter! Fluff and happiness, as promised!_

~*~

Chapter Twenty-Nine:

"You're doing it wrong," Hermione said, her eyes narrowed as she watched Ron.

"No, I'm _not_," Ron said defensively, throwing a reproachful look in Hermione's direction. She was standing at the foot of the changing table, her arms crossed as she watched Ron attempt to change Teddy's nappy. Teddy, whose hair was now a bright shade of blue, gurgled up at the two of them, oblivious of their bickering.

"Yes, you _are_. You've done it too loose. Watch, when you pick him up it's going to fall off!" she said warningly.

"Will you quit bossing me around? I am capable of doing things, you know, I'm not…" he picked Teddy up, and his nappy fell off. "Completely incompetent," he finished through gritted teeth, his ears turning red.

Ron put Teddy back onto the changing table as Hermione stepped around him and proceeded to do it the right way. "You did the right things, you just…see, you have to make sure it's securely around him. That's the first step. The second step is to…"

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," Ron said incredulously from behind her. Hermione handed Teddy, whose diaper did not fall off this time, to Ginny and faced Ron, her arms crossed again.

"What?" she said challengingly, her chin stuck in the air.

"'The first step'?" Ron repeated mockingly. "You've read a book on babies, haven't you?" he said incredulously.

Hermione's cheeks colored. "No, I haven't!" she said, though it sounded unconvincing even to her own ears. From the kitchen, Harry chuckled. Hermione shot him a scathing look and he stopped immediately.

Ron shook his head. "I can't believe it. You actually read a book on how to take care of babies," he said, an ironic smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"So what if I did?" Hermione said, abandoning denial because she knew it wouldn't work. She _had_ read a book on taking care of babies, though she wouldn't admit it right now to Ron. "What does it matter if I have?"

"It's just funny that's all," Ron said, grinning widely now.

"What's funny is that the last time _you_ read a book, your mum was reading it _to_ you," Hermione shot back, her temper flaring up at once.

Ron's mouth dropped open. "That's not true! I read," he said defiantly.

"Quidditch magazines and Chocolate Frog cards don't count," she said contemptuously.

Ron's ears grew red. "I do read, I just don't do it in the excessive amount that you do it in," he said, mirroring her and crossing her arms.

"Should Harry and I leave? Only, this is our flat, so if you two want a room, don't use the bedroom, that would be too weird," Ginny called from the kitchen, bouncing Teddy on her hip.

"Shut up Ginny," Ron growled, his eyes never straying from Hermione's face.

"What was the last book you read," Hermione said, not letting the argument die with Ginny's interruption.

"You wouldn't know it," Ron said coolly.

"Well, according to you, I read _everything_, so I must know it!" Hermione shouted.

Ron bit his lip, looking around the room. Hermione knew he was trying to buy himself some time. "I read…I read…" Ron stumbled, trying to find a title out of thin air. "I read _Hogwarts: A History_."

Hermione was taken aback. "No you didn't," she said hotly, though she was a little uncertain. What if he actually _had_ read it?

"Yes, I did. I was tired of hearing you bang on about it for eight years, so I read it to see if it was all that it was cracked up to be. And guess what? _It wasn't_!" Ron shouted, throwing his arms up in the air in frustration

"What was your favorite part, then?" Hermione asked, not letting this pass just because he could remember a book title.

"I didn't have one. The whole bloody thing was rubbish and a waste of paper," Ron said bellowed, his ears burning. "Why, what was _your_ favorite part?" he asked mockingly.

"The part about enslaved house elves and how they had been employed since the school opened and not one Headmaster or Headmistress has even bothered to free them," she said. She was setting up a trap for him; it was unfair, but she couldn't help it.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Ah, yes. That _would_ be your favorite part, wouldn't it?" he said sarcastically. Hermione smiled; it had worked.

"Ha!" she said, uncrossing her arms and taking a step toward Ron. "I _knew _you hadn't read it! There isn't one word on house elves in the entire thing! Wouldn't you know that if you'd _actually_ read it?" she screamed; the heat of the fight pushing at her emotions.

But something else was happening well, it was a feeling that was all too familiar. As much as she wanted to hit Ron, as much as she wanted to scream and yell and hate him, there was something else too. And it was much more powerful than the anger that was coursing though her veins. As much as she wanted to flounce out of Harry's and Ginny's flat and slam the door in his face, she wanted to do something else as well. She wanted to kiss him, she wanted to run her fingers nails through his hair, she wanted to feel the taunt muscles of his chest. As much as she wanted to hit him, she wanted to kiss him even more.

It was a curious emotion, one the two of them had discovered years ago, though the feelings certainly hadn't been as strong. She supposed it had started when she was fourteen, when she realized that when she yelled at Ron, other things happened too. She knew he felt the same way; this was why they fought so much. And she knew no one else understood it but the two of them. Fighting was their strange and perverse way of flirting.

She blinked, bringing herself back to the present, back to reality. She crossed her arms tighter, forcing herself not to jump at him. "Well?" she added testily, her voice low and dangerous.

Ron still looked shocked by her trick. "Maybe you missed a part," he yelled back, though they both knew his feeble attempt wouldn't work.

"Oh, yes, that must be it. I didn't read the chapter on house elves that you read," she shouted sarcastically. "Tell me, Ron, what did it say?" she asked loftily.

Her sarcasm seemed to fuel Ron, who rose to the occasion. "It said…it said…it said that you should stop being such a know-it-all," he bellowed finally.

Hermione raised her eyebrows coolly. "A know-it-all? How original, I've never heard of that one before," she screamed, and Ron's ears turned a darker shade of red.

"Yeah, well…" Ron shouted, clearly out of an argument.

They stood there, only a few inches apart, their chests rising and falling rapidly as they stared at each other, eyes glazed in anger, cheeks red with shouting. Harry said something, but he sounded very far away, and Hermione did not ask him to repeat himself.

Ron started to bit his lip furiously, and Hermione realized that he was trying not to smile. She was very aware of the way he was looking at her, and it was not at all in the same way he had been glaring at her before. And she knew, though he did not need to say it, that he was picturing the same things she had been imagining. She knew that running through his mind was the feel of her skin, the smell of her hair, the way she felt when he wrapped his arms around her.

This was how all of their bickering ended, especially now that they didn't have to suppress any of their feelings. One minute they'd be fighting, and the next thing she knew, Ron would swiftly cross the room and, without any explanation, kiss her. Only this time, he couldn't kiss her because they were standing in the middle of Harry's and Ginny's living room, and they couldn't do something like that.

Harry cleared his throat loudly, and the two of them snapped out of the reverie they had been sharing. Ron's ears turned, if possible, even redder as he turned to the kitchen and remembered that his best friend and little sister had been watching their fight.

"I don't want to…er….break anything up," Harry said awkwardly, looking in their direction but not actually at either one of them, "But dinner's ready."

"Oh," Hermione said, and she felt her cheeks turn red with embarrassment. She turned back to Ron, who was still gazing intently at her. His unspoken words told her that what he wanted to do more than anything else was to do exactly what she had imagined. She felt her cheeks grow warmer and she shook her head, saying, _not here._

Ron groaned and rolled his eyes, though she knew he had been expecting this answer. Instead, he simply took her hand and they walked into the kitchen. Harry was looking at them with raised eyebrows, holding a babbling Teddy on his lap. Ron shrugged and pulled a chair out for Hermione. She smiled in thanks as she flushed with pleasure.

Ginny, who was bent over in front of the oven, straightened up and set the lasagna on the table. She looked at Harry, who looked surprised.

"It looks really good, Ginny," Harry said, still sounding mildly shocked.

"I _told_ you I can cook," Ginny said defiantly, slapping his arm lightly as she took Teddy from Harry and fastened him into his highchair.

This was a lie, though Hermione didn't challenge it. Ginny had asked her to help make dinner, which Hermione gladly said yes to. The last time they had had dinner with Harry and Ginny, Ginny had burnt absolutely everything, which had caused Ron to complain loudly, and Ginny to throw him out of the flat. This night was special, though, and Hermione didn't want food to ruin it. As it turned out, "helping with dinner" actually meant cooking it while Ginny sat on the counter, moaning over her dismal culinary skills. However, since this was Teddy's first overnight in the flat, Hermione knew it was a big night for Harry, and she didn't tell him that she had, in fact, cooked dinner.

It was all worth the lie though, as she watched Ginny proudly serve everyone, and then watched them intently as they all did not gag on their first bite. Ron sat back, surprised.

"What is it?" Ginny asked, her voice slightly nervous.

"I don't think I'm going to die," Ron said, shocked. This earned him a slap from both Hermione and Ginny.

"Actually, it's really good," Harry said, shoveling more into his mouth.

Ginny crossed her arms. "You don't have to sound so surprised about it," she said, defending something that she hadn't even made. Hermione wanted to laugh at the irony, but she didn't; it would have given her away.

The meal was torture. The unsaid tension between Ron and Hermione was so high she could practically feel it pressing against her. Ron was, unfortunately, sitting opposite her, and every time she would look up, she would find him staring at her, his eyes deep and dark with desire. She would give him a wide-eyed look and shake her head, to which he would respond with a look that clearly said, _you're torturing me, can we please leave early_?

Even though they couldn't talk in Ginny's and Harry's presence, it didn't stop Ron from doing other things. His foot found hers under the table, and she was doing all she could to say something aloud or standing up and announcing that she and Ron were leaving. Whenever she would squirm in her chair, Ron would smirk, fully knowing what he was doing to her. When she stood up to get something from the counter, Ron pretended he needed more to drink. He pressed the left side of his body against the right side of hers as they stood at the counter, his hand "accidentally" brushing her lower back. Hermione promptly sat down without getting what she needed.

After dinner, Hermione sat listening as Harry and Ron told dramatic stories about Auror training, and the terrible things they had been through. Although she knew it was a grueling process, she didn't believe half of it, like the story Ron told about single-handedly taken out a fleet of mountain trolls. Once they were done telling and creating stories, Ginny told stories about training and practice. She did vivid representations of the other members on the team, most of them uncannily accurate, from what Hermione could tell.

Hermione felt only slightly regretful that she could not join in, for what wildly amusing and thrilling stories could she tell them that could possibly match the adventures they had been in? What was the most exciting thing that had happened to her at work? Not mountain trolls or Dementors or fighting her way out of a ring of Death Eaters. No, the most exciting thing that had happened to her at work had probably been getting a paper cut, she thought wryly.

After dinner, Ginny and Hermione took Teddy into the living room to play while Ron and Harry, against his better judgment, played a game of chess at the kitchen table.

Hermione sat on one side of the rug while Ginny sat on the other, Teddy in between them. They were trying to get him to walk, something he had been reluctant to do. Hermione guessed that with so many people willing to carry Teddy around, he simply didn't want to do it. She couldn't blame him; if she had a dozen or so people practically jumping up and down to carry her everywhere, she wouldn't be bothered about walking either. However, his first birthday had been three weeks ago, and Harry and Andromeda were getting a little worried.

"Come on Teddy," Ginny coaxed. Teddy looked up from the blocks on the floor and grinned at Ginny, a line of drool running from his mouth to the threadbare carpet. He crawled to Ginny, crashing headlong into her legs as he got excited and forgot to stop.

Ginny laughed and picked him up onto her lap. "Silly, you were supposed to walk, not crawl," she told him, brushing her hand over his recently turned ginger hair. Teddy laughed wildly, as if he understood and thought it was the funniest thing in the world.

Hermione and Ginny laughed too, it was the most infectious sound. Hermione leaned forward, and Ginny stood Teddy up, holding on tightly to his pudgy hand.

"Come on Teddy, walk to me," Hermione said in a ridiculously high voice. Teddy's eyes widened with delight at this heightened attention. Ginny kept holding his hand, trying to coax him to walk to Hermione. The plan didn't work though; Teddy promptly crashed to the floor and crawled to Hermione, giggling all the way.

Hermione snatched up Teddy and kissed him loudly on the cheek, which made him giggle even louder with happiness. Teddy wound his thick fingers through her hair, and she winced as she tried to unwrap them.

"I guess he'll walk when he's ready," Hermione said, finally managing to release her hair. Ginny laughed in agreement and stood up.

"Does anyone want ice cream?" Ginny asked, though she was answered with silence. Harry and Ron were so involved in their game; they seemed to be blocking everything out. Ginny turned to Hermione and rolled her eyes.

"I'd take that as a yes," Hermione said, and Ginny nodded, rolling her eyes again. Hermione followed Ginny into the kitchen, Teddy still laughing wildly as she put him on her hip. She sat down at the kitchen table, sitting down as one of Ron's pieces began to assault one of Harry's.

"Ah, bad luck. Mind, that pawn wasn't doing you any favors," Ron said as one of his pieces continued brutally attacked one of Harry's. Teddy grabbed vainly for the small pieces of Harry's pawn, but Hermione puhsed back her chair so that he couldn't reach tnem. Teddy was a magnet for trouble, and the last thing they needed on his first overnight at Harry's and Ginny's flat was to swallow a small piece of marble. Hermione thought the night might get ruined if they ended up at St. Mungo's.

Harry muttered darkly under his breath is response to Ron. Hermione shifted Teddy on her lap to try and tell the two that she was here, but they didn't notice; their eyes barely left the game, they would hardly register her or Teddy.

Harry moved another one of his pieces, and then sat back in his chair looking fairly pleased with himself.

Ron frowned at the board, his eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out the next move. Hermione had never told him this, but she loved to watch him play chess. When she had been at school, it had amazed her. She had never seen him funnel all of his energy into a single thing; she was amazed by his focus and drive. It had been strange, seeing lounging, effortlessly funny Ron stare at a chess board for two hours, barely speaking. She loved how he would run his hands through his hair, trying to figure out the next move and the move after that one. She loved how he would chew the inside of his cheek when he was thinking, how nothing else seemed to matter. It was that passion and drive in such a raw form that marveled her. Now, as she sat at the kitchen table watching the two of them, she saw it in a different light. She saw that unrefined, focused, look of complete and utter care in his eyes before. She saw it when he looked at her.

Ron's eyes grew wide and he ran his hands through his hair again, Harry watching him warily. "Okay, I got it, Queen to E three," he said. "And checkmate," he added jovially.

Harry groaned and dramatically slammed his fist against the table. Ron tried not to look too happy, but Hermione knew that he couldn't help it. This was the one thing that Ron could beat Harry at.

"I don't know why I even try," Harry said theatrically, pushing his glasses further up his nose.

Ron smirked. "Don't let it get to you, I've been playing for a while," Ron said generously. He looked at Hermione and grinned, and she felt her hands and fingers tingle with excitement.

"Yeah, but in eight years, I've never beaten you _once_," Harry said. "It'd be okay if you usually won but I won the occasional game, but I've _never_ won," Harry said.

"Do you want another go?" Ron asked excitedly, "For practice, I mean," he added quickly. Since he had left the Burrow, there had been few opportunities to play chess; Hermione refused to play with him because she was a bad loser, and they always ended up fighting. It wasn't the good type of fighting either, Hermione took it very personally when she lost.

"Yeah, okay," Harry agreed, and they set up the pieces to play again. Hermione sighed, knowing that Ron would be occupied for another hour. She set Teddy back in the highchair and gave him some toys to play with as she joined Ginny at the counter.

"Don't do it Harry, I don't want to have to put up with you tonight when you lose again," Ginny said over her shoulder.

"That's the spirit," Harry said sarcastically as one of Ron's pieces commenced the game by beheading his knight.

"Is it okay for Teddy to be exposed to this type of violence?" Hermione asked nervously, eyeing Harry's headless knight.

Ron shrugged. "I've been watching Bill and Charlie play since I was about two, I reckon," he said, sweeping the shattered pieces and setting them in a small pile near his elbow.

"Yeah, and you turned out just fine," Ginny said sarcastically. Ron took the pieces of Harry's pawn that he had just captured and threw them at Ginny, who deflected it with a quick flick of her wand. The pieces of white marble turned to a bird in a flash of purple light. Teddy laughed and clapped his hands together wth delight.

"I did," Ron said defiantly. "And anyway, chess is a game of _logic,_ who cares about a little violence, it builds character. I'm going to teach Teddy how to play when he gets older. I bet he'd like that, wouldn't you, Teddy?" he asked, turning to Teddy, who laughed gurgled incomprehensibly. Ron raised his eyebrows at Ginny, as if this was suficient confirmation. Ginny merely rolled her eyes and opened the living room window to let the bird out.

Ginny sat back down at the table. "Great, because what we all really need is another Ron walking around, gloating about how great he is at playing chess," she joked.

"I don't _gloat_," Ron said defiantly.

"Yes you do, but you won't admit it. Just shut up and eat your ice cream," Ginny said with a note of finality.

"Why? Did you make this too?" Ron asked mischievously. Ginny pretended to dump his bowl of ice cream over his head, but did not answer.

Ron set the chessboard carefully on the counter; food ranked pretty high on his list, even higher than chess.

"Have you _ever_ lost a game?" Harry asked as they dug into their ice cream. Ron shot him a dark look, as if Harry had just asked him to recount his worst memory.

"Once," he said shortly, giving the air that he wanted the conversation to end there.

"When?" Harry asked eagerly, as if he was going to ask the winner for pointers.

"I don't want to talk about it," Ron said quickly.

"He doesn't want to talk about it because he lost to _me_," Ginny chirped happily, now suddenly very happy to talk about chess. Ron shot her a look that clearly said she had betrayed him, and Harry laughed aloud.

"You're joking_. I_ can beat Ginny at chess!" Harry said.

"Hey!" Ginny cried angrily.

"I thought we weren't going to talk about it," Ron said to Ginny through gritted teeth. Ginny shrugged, and then turned angrily to Harry.

"What was that supposed to mean?" she said, crossing her arms. "'Even I can beat Ginny at chess?'" she asked.

"I…" Harry said, at a loss for words. He seemed very regretful of what he had just said.

"When was this?" Hermione asked Ron intently, ignoring the spat that was inevitably going to develop between Harry and Ginny.

"December 26, 1994," Ron said shortly. Hermione laughed.

"You remember the exact date?" she asked incredulously. "You couldn't remember any dates in History of Magic, but you can remember the date Ginny beat you at chess?" she asked.

"Want to know why I remember?" Ron asked angrily her, and she nodded. He groaned, as if he wished she had said no.

"Because that was the day after the Yule Ball," Ron said irritably. "And she won because I wasn't paying attention," he said.

Ginny coughed something that sounded a lot like "excuses" but Ron ignored her.

"I wasn't concentrating because you were about a foot away, and I had all these thoughts going around my head," Ron continued.

"Like how much of a prat you had been the night before?" Ginny supplied helpfully.

"No," Ron said furiously. "I was thinking about…other things," he said, his ears growing red.

"Things like how awful those dress robes were and how you really should burn them?" Ginny tried again, and Ron merely shot her a scathing look this time. Hermione knew that Ginny knew the real reason why Ron hadn't been concentrating, and she was doing this just to get a rise out of him.

"_No_," he said again. "I was…I was thinking…bugger it, I'm not saying it in front of Harry and Ginny," he said to Hermione. Hermione felt her heart pound in her chest. She wanted to know what he was going to say.

"But now you all have us on the edge of out seats," Harry said jokingly. Ron rolled his eyes.

"And you're going to stay there because I'm not saying anything. It's private," he said shortly.

They finished the rest of their ice cream in silence, Hermione could practically feel Ron prickling with anger and she knew it would be best to let him burn it out then ask him something and make him flare up again.

Ron and Hermione left soon after that; it had grown uncomfortable after Ginny told Ron's secret, something he clearly believed was base treachery. The evening had started with a fight and had ended with one too, and Hermione was almost happy when Ginny and Harry said goodnight and shut the door behind them.

Hermione turned to Ron, a question on her lips, but she never got to ask it. He took her by the waist and brought him close to her, tilting her chin up and kissing her softly. For a moment, she let herself forget everything and get swept away by the feel of his lips on hers. Then, reason began to catch up and she broke away.

"Ron, we can't. We're in the corridor," she whispered, as if there was someone who could hear her.

Ron shook his head, his eyes dark and searching her. "I've wanted to do that all night long. Ever since you looked at me like that when we were fighting," he said softly. She felt her heart crumble.

"Like what?" she asked, and she knew they were speaking softly for different reasons now.

Ron shook his head, and then looked at her. Something behind his eyes seemed to melt, and his breath came out shakily. "Like that," he said, his voice cracking.

Hermione's heart began to speed up, and she acted without thinking. She jumped at him, wrapping her legs around his waist and kissing him deeply and fully. Ron responded enthusiastically, his hand brushing the strip of bare skin that had been exposed when she had jumped.

Ron managed to open the door and they fell into the flat as he tried to walk backwards while kissing her at the same time. The result was a resounding crash that surely woke up their neighbors downstairs. Hermione fell on top of Ron, laughing at their strange position.

He raised his head to kiss her again, but she stopped him.

"Why did you lose the game?" she whispered.

Ron paused for a moment. "Because it was the first time I realized I loved you," he whispered back, and Hermione knew he had been waiting to tell her this for a long time. "It was the night after the Yule Ball," he continued. "You were in the Common Room banging on about Krum, and then, in the middle of the game, it all connected. Why I hated him so much, why I was angry at you, all of it," he said. He sat up, taking her with him as he stood up and shut the front door, then turned to her. "I'm sure you'd had all your feelings worked out by then, but that night, while playing chess with Ginny, I finally worked out all of mine."

Hermione felt her heart beat quickly as he talked, and she felt herself sinking, sinking into the floor at his words. She smiled softly, reaching up and putting her arms around his neck. She did not know what to say to him, what she could possibly say that would match what he had just told her.

He looked down at her, "I remember the date because every night since that night, when you would go off to your dormitory, I would think 'I love you'. I would do it every night, but obviously never out lound. But every time you'd say you were off to bed, I would say good night, then in my mind, I would add, 'I love you'. I guess it got to be a habit, because I still do it every night, even though I can say it aloud too. That's roughly one thousand six hundred and twelve times I've thought it. A date like that sticks with you," he said, his voice breathing into her.

"One thousand six hundred and twelve?" she asked, her voice a faint whisper.

He did not answer but kissed her again, his lips parting hers and his hands warm and familiar on her back as she ran hers through his hair.

When they broke apart again, they did not move away from each other, but stood there in the dark flat, their faces vary close. That look he had given her in the hallway, the one where something seemed to have melted behind his eyes, was painted across his face again.

"One thousand six hundred and thirteen," he said.

~*~

_Author's Note: Still don't know how I feel about this one. Like I said before, I had a bit of trouble with it. I wanted to do a lot of dialogue, some bickering between Ron and Hermione (as promised), and a little more development for Harry and Ginny as well. I also like doing dialogue between Ginny and Ron. I don't know though, it didn't turn out as planned. Does the 1,612 thing make any sense at all? (yes, I counted, and I'm almost positive is 1,612)_

_Also, I'd love to get some requests. I have about nine different options for chapter thirty, so any ideas you guys have would be great! Otherwise, I'll end up writing nine different versions of chapter thirty, have my sister read them, and choose the one that she likes. So...if you have any ideas I'd love to hear them (except for Ron proposing...let him get out of the teenage years first, please!)_

_Reviews would be fantastic, and once again, I promise I'll respond. I had so much fun writing them for chapter 28...a bit too much fun, actually. I think I wrote back more than some people wanted..._

_Lastly, and sorry this is getting long, but on a completely unrelated note has anyone been able to see the movie "Cherrybomb"? I've been wanting to see it for ages, but I can't find it anywhere!_


	30. Back to The Burrow

_Author's Note: To everyone who waited patiently for an entire month for this update: I LOVE YOU ALL! I am so sorry it took me so long to write this chapter, I got caught up with school, and then computer troubles, but finally I have a new chapter! Thank you a million times if you are still reading this story! Enjoy!_

Chapter Thirty:

The air in the kitchen was laden with humidity and discomfort. The three of them sat around the table, staring down at the scratched wooden surface, desperately trying to not look at each other. Hermione clutched her mug of steaming tea which Mrs. Weasley had just put down in front of her before sitting down on her left. The steam misted lightly on her face. It was much too hot to make tea, but Hermione supposed that Mrs. Weasley needed something to do, and boiling water for tea was a habit.

Hermione chanced a glance at Ginny, who was outlining words that had been carved into the surface in front of her with her fingertips. She looked up and met Hermione's gaze. The two shared an unspoken conversation, each girl daring the other to talk first. In the end, Ginny lost the battle; after all, she was Mrs. Weasley's daughter.

"Er, mum…" Ginny started awkwardly, but her voice died in the hot, thick air. Hermione knew that she was at a loss of what to say; truthfully, there was nothing that _could_ be said.

Hermione looked up as well, and although Mrs. Weasley had said nothing yet, she could feel herself blushing a deep red. Mrs. Weasley missed her embarrassment; she was refusing to look at either girl.

"It's so nice to have all of you over," Mrs. Weasley said loudly, her voice a fake falsetto. "It really has been too quiet in the house." Bill and Fluer had moved out a few weeks ago back to Shell Cottage, though they had maken sure that there was a very secure fence surrounding the house to keep Victoire away from the edge of the cliff.

Ginny rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair. Hermione turned redder and took a sip of scorching tea just for something to do. She gasped as the burning liquid seared her tongue. Eyes watering, she returned her mug back to the table. Neither Mrs. Weasley nor Ginny appeared to have noticed anything.

"I should start making dinner," Mrs. Weasley said, again in that horribly false voice. Ginny's eyes connected with Hermione, and they both nodded.

"Thanks for the tea," Hermione whispered, though she doubted that Mrs. Weasley had heard her; she had been scraping her chair back loudly, just to put a bit of noise in the room.

Hermione and Ginny all but ran out of the kitchen, closing the door firmly behind them and finding Ron and Harry hovering anxiously in the doorway. When the two girls appeared they fell backwards and tried to look casual, as if they had not been waiting for them.

"Thank you _so_ much for your help," Ginny spat at the two of them, glaring at both boys, who each wore a look of guilt.

"We thought you two would handle it better," Harry mumbled, gathering up the dignity to look ashamed. He was refusing to look his girlfriend in the eye so he looked at Hermione instead.

"Well, we didn't," Hermione said, breathing a sigh of relief for being out of the kitchen and leaning back on the door. The air seemed to be thinner and cooler out here.

"Was it really that bad?" Ron asked Hermione, his eyes wide.

"Yes, it was," Ginny said, answering for her. "It was awful. She wouldn't even look at us!" Hermione nodded, as if to confirm this.

Harry groaned and Ron cursed under his breath. The four were immersed in an awkward sort of silence, each one sunk deep into their own thoughts. After a few moments, Harry cleared his throat and said, "Well, I was going to take a walk. Ginny, coming?" he asked, and walked away, Ginny trailing moodily after him.

Ron took Hermione's hand and led her away from the door, probably out of earshot of Mrs. Weasley. They climbed the several flights of stairs to his bedroom. In the doorway, Hermione paused.

"Maybe it's not such a good idea," she said softly, eying the door cautiously. Ron groaned and nodded in agreement.

"You're probably right, given the circumstances," Ron said, rolling his eyes. Hermione knew he was thinking of his mother.

It was too hot to go back down the stairs, so they settled on the landing; it was uncomfortable and hot, though at least they were far away from Mrs. Weasley's rage. The cold wood of the wall dug into her back. Ron, who was much too tall for the landing, dangled his legs over the stairs as Hermione curled hers up to her chest.

"I thought she'd have gotten over it by now," Ron said after several moments of silence.

Hermione shook her head. "No, she definitely hasn't," she confirmed for the second time. She wanted to ask Ron if he thought Mrs. Weasley would ever get over it, but it sounded ominous in her mind, and she knew it would sound worse aloud.

Ron groaned again and buried his face in his hands, shaking his head as he did so. "This is going to be such a long weekend," he moaned. Hermione nodded and thought back to the incident the week before.

She had come home from work and was making dinner and waiting for Ron, who always got home after she did. Ten minutes into cooking, someone knocked on the door. With the weather being so hot and the oven only adding to the heat, she had stripped off to only her bra and underwear. Thinking it was Ron, who constantly forgot his key and was always too lazy to fish his wand out of the depths of his pockets to Apparate back in, she answered the door. In hindsight, she knew she should have thought that it was someone else; Ron never came home that early.

It was Mrs. Weasley, followed closely by Ron, who was shifting nervously from foot to foot. When Hermione opened the door, she screamed and slammed it shut again; the image of Mrs. Weasley's shocked expression and Ron's grin etched clearly in her mind. She ran around the flat picking up her discarded clothes and putting them on again, disregarding the fact that her skirt was on backwards and her shirt was inside out.

Mrs. Weasley had waited patiently, and when Hermione opened the door, she pretended that what had just happened had not happened at all. Hermione tried to manage a smile, her burning cheeks adding to her discomfort. Ron paced anxiously behind his mother, shooting Hermione furtive glances.

"Hi Mrs. Weasley," Hermione had said a little breathlessly, following Mrs. Weasley's charade.

"Hello, dear," Mrs. Weasley said loudly. "I was just thinking today that I've never seen your flat, so I decided to bake something for a very, very belated housewarming gift," she said kindly. "I went to Harry's and Ginny's flat, but no one's home."

Hermione's eyes met Ron, and all at once she knew why he was so nervous. Mrs. Weasley was very, very traditional. She did not let Bill and Fleur sleep in the same bedroom at the Burrow even after they were engaged. Hermione did not know what she would do when she found out that her youngest son was sharing a flat with a girl that he was dating…Hermione, no less.

"Oh," Hermione said, her mouth racing to keep up with her brain. She decided to ignore Ron's pointed looks; she couldn't leave Mrs. Weasley standing outside. "Er, come in," she said helplessly.

Mrs. Weasley smiled broadly and inched her way past Hermione into the living room. Ron followed her, pausing in the doorway to look at Hermione.

"Do you know what she's going to say when she sees the _one_ bedroom?" he whispered angrily. His eyes were wide and his face was pale; he looked like a toddler caught doing something he was told not to do.

"What did you want me to do?" Hermione whispered back, her tone matching his. "Let your mother stand outside while I wildly invented yet another reason to keep her out?" Hermione asked. It was true, they had been politely refusing a visit for months now, and they were running out of lies to keep Ron's mother at bay.

Ron sighed. "You're right, like always," he said resignedly. "Maybe we can keep her in the living room," he added hopefully, though they both knew this idea wouldn't work.

"You two have a lovely kitchen," Mrs. Weasley called out. Ron and Hermione both jumped, and rushed into the living room where Mrs. Weasley was standing, a platter clutched in her arms.

"Thank you," Hermione answered quickly. Her mind was running in circles trying to figure out a way to keep Mrs. Weasley out of the bedroom. She took the platter from Mrs. Weasley's arms and put it in the kitchen. She vainly tried to waste some time in there, away from Mrs. Weasley, closing and opening cabinets and rearranging the tea mugs so that their handles all faced in the same direction. She was stalling, and she knew it wouldn't last very long.

"Hermione?" Ron called nervously from the living room. "Are you coming back?" he asked, pleading. She could picture him standing in front of his mother, twisting his hands together and fumbling with his words.

"Oh, um, yes," Hermione called back. She stepped out of the kitchen, accepting defeat. Mrs. Weasley was still standing in the living room, and Ron was next to her, looking just as Hermione had just pictured him. He gave her a helpless look, and she returned it, feeling equally powerless. They were only postponing the inevitable, really.

"So," Mrs. Weasley said, cutting through the unspoken conversation the two of them were having. "The living room is lovely, but I'd love to see the rest of the flat," she said, turning to Hermione. Hermione gathered that she had asked Ron to show her, and Ron had made some unbelievable excuse.

Hermione nodded, and led Mrs. Weasley into the kitchen, where she spent an unnatural amount of time showing her all of the appliances and counter space and cabinets. After that she showed Mrs. Weasley the dining room, where she babbled on and on about the wood quality and the seating capacity. She caught Ron's eye a few times, who gave her a look of awe and incredulousness. When there was nothing more she could say about the dining room, she led Mrs. Weasley into the bathroom off the hall, because she was trying to buy herself more time. Predictably, Mrs. Weasley had very little interest in the toilet.

"It's all very nice dear, but where are the bedrooms?" she asked Hermione innocently. Hermione's eyes flew to Ron, who was hovering in the doorway, his eyes round. Neither knew how to tell Mrs. Weasley that it was not plural – there was only one bedroom.

"Oh," Hermione said helplessly, "Well, we… I, I mean… that's…" she stuttered, tripping over words and excuses.

"Ah, that's one of them," Mrs. Weasley said, poking her head around the doorframe and seeing the closed door that they had not entered yet. "Is the other one off of that room too?"

"Mum, you don't have to see the bedrooms," Ron attempted feebly, but it was no use. Mrs. Weasley had already bustled past them and was making her way to the bedroom. Hermione watched her anxiously, stepping out of the bathroom and standing next to Ron in the hallway.

"It's not too late to make a break for it," Ron suggested, and Hermione would have laughed, except it wasn't funny at all.

The two watched as Mrs. Weasley opened the door, a door that led to a single room with a single bed, where both of their clothes lay tangled on the floor, and Hermione's pillow lay next to Ron's. Mrs. Weasley turned to face the two of them, her smile faltering. Ron began to back away, but Hermione grabbed onto his sleeve to keep him from running out the door.

"I don't understand," Mrs. Weasley said softly. She looked between the two of them, as if one of them could give her a rational answer.

"That's the bedroom, mum," Ron said with a pitiful attempt at casualness.

"But there's only one of them," Mrs. Weasley said in a horrified whisper.

"Well, yes," Hermione said, her voice tiny in the small flat.

Mrs. Weasley said nothing else; she pushed past the two of them and wrenched open the door, leaving it open. Ron and Hermione watched as she crossed the hall and knocked loudly on Harry's and Ginny's door. Ginny, who was wearing only a slip, her long red hair piled up on top of her head, answered the door, a look of pure shock on her face. Wordlessly, Mrs. Weasley crossed the threshold and disappeared from view. Ginny stepped out into the hallway, looking at Ron and Hermione.

"What the _hell_ just happened?" she asked, peering back into her own flat, and then looking back at Ron and Hermione.

Hermione was about to answer, but her voice was drowned out by a very loud scream that could only belong to Mrs. Weasley. Ginny jumped in shock and looked around her door.

"Mum just realized we don't all sleep in separate rooms," Ron said dully, a little too late.

After the disastrous visit, they hadn't heard anything for a week, which was unusual because Mrs. Weasley liked to send daily owls to her children to make sure that they were all okay. There had been a spot of discomfort on Thursday when Hermione stepped into the lift after her lunch break and found herself alone with Mr. Weasley, who was obviously coming back from his. Hermione wanted to run out, but the doors had already clanged shut behind her, and there was nothing she could do.

"Hello," she had said softly, looking down at her toes. Mr. Weasley was fiddling with the buckle on his bag.

"Hello," he said, with equal discomfort. Hermione knew that Mrs. Weasley told her husband everything, and that surely he would have heard the news of the flat debacle. Hermione said nothing of it; she was trying to erase her mind of that day.

"How are you?" Mr. Weasley asked, his voice a false calm and pleasantness.

"I'm fine. Very busy, you know, with work and everything. So much to do, I'm working overtime almost every day. But it's very important, you know, and I really love it, so it doesn't feel like work at all," she babbled. "How are you?" she added bashfully.

"Er, I'm well," Mr. Weasley said uncomfortably, and Hermione mentally kicked herself for asking. Of course he was not well; he had to live with the wrath of Mrs. Weasley every night, and her anger with the fact that her two youngest children rented one-bedroom flats.

"I'm glad to hear it," Hermione whispered feebly. Thankfully, just as the conversation was reaching the breaking point, the doors of the lift clattered open to Hermione's floor. "Well, this is me," she announced loudly, as if she were talking to an auditorium full of people.

Mr. Weasley smiled briefly, though it looked more like he had a toothache. Hermione paused in front of the open doors, facing Ron's father.

"Ron and I share a bedroom," she blurted out, then gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. She hadn't meant to say that; it had spilled out before she could stop it.

The gilded doors of the lift began to shudder closed again, but before they did, she saw Mr. Weasley give her a fleeting, but definitely genuine, smile.

The next day when she got home from work, Hermione found an owl waiting patiently outside the window in the living room. She opened the window hurriedly and the bird flew inside, soaring swiftly around the room once in a wide circle before depositing the letter on the sofa and flying out the window again. Hermione stared after the bird for a moment, then came to her senses and redirected her attention to the letter.

The letter was addressed in Mrs. Weasley's familiar handwriting; neat and curled, the letters warm and familiar. It simply said "Ron and Hermione." Hermione wondered if she should wait for Ron to open it, since it was from his mother, but she decided that it was addressed to her as well, so she had just as much of a right to open it. She broke the seal with shaking fingers, vaguely registering that at least it wasn't a Howler.

There were only a few lines of Mrs. Weasley's careful script, but it seemed to take Hermione hours to spell out what they said.

_Ron and Hermione – _

_We would very much like to have you over next weekend. The house has been much too quiet and lonely, and we would love to have the two of you stay over for the weekend._

It wasn't signed, though Hermione knew who it was from. She held the letter tightly in her fist, staring down at it in disbelief. A week of silence, and now an invitation to stay over the weekend. She wasn't quite sure how she should feel. Happy, she supposed, because this letter might be taken as a peace offering, a way for Mrs. Weasley to show that she wasn't angry any more. Even if it was a peace offering, Hermione was still nervous. Once they were at the Burrow, there was no denying what had happened. It was going to be a very long and awkward weekend.

"Hermione," Ron said loudly, and Hermione was jerked back to the present, painfully aware that she had just lapsed into memory for several minutes.

"Sorry," she muttered, straightening up so that her back was firmly pressed against the wall. "I was thinking," she added unnecessarily.

"I know, but dinner is ready, mum just called up to us," he said, standing up and extending a hand for her to take. "I think this might be the first time I don't want to eat dinner," he added jokingly.

Hermione laughed as they began to walk back downstairs. "Yes, that _would_ be a first," she said, smiling up at him.

They arrived at dinner after everyone else had already sat down. Hermione walked swiftly down the table to the only two empty chairs, which were mercilessly the furthest from the door. She could feel Mrs. Weasley's eyes burning into the back of her head as she sat down. She wondered what creative stories Ron's mum was inventing as to why the two of them had turned up later than anyone else.

For the first time in Hermione's memory, no one spoke at dinner, but the kitchen was not silent. To compensate for the lack of conversation, everyone seemed to be trying to make as much noise as they possibly could. Ginny kept on slamming her glass onto the table every time she drank, making a hollow sound of glass hitting wood. Ron kept on sliding his fork against his plate, making a high-pitched screech that made Hermione cringe. Under normal circumstances, she would have told him to stop it, but that terrible noise was better than nothing at all.

The only one who seemed to be enjoying the meal was, predictably, George, who kept on looking around the table, waiting for something dramatic to happen. Every time Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat he nearly stood up, and whenever Harry or Hermione shifted uncomfortably in their seats he would stop what he was doing to look at them. Every time he did this, Ginny or Ron would give him a reproachful look, silently berating him for taking pleasure in their discomfort.

When dinner was finally over, Mrs. Weasley cleared all of their dishes and brought out a pie. Hermione slumped back in her chair, her heart falling. They would have to endure at least another half hour around the table. Mrs. Weasley didn't seem to be paying much attention as she served them all; she gave Ron hardly any at all, while she piled on nearly half the pie onto Hermione's plate. Ron looked jealously at the dish in front of her.

"Want to trade?" he asked, looking down at his barely filled plate. Hermione rolled her eyes but nodded; she hadn't been very hungry, her anxiousness kept on getting in the way. Though of course Ron wouldn't understand something like that.

When everyone had finally finished, Mrs. Weasley cleared their plates once again, then left the room, leaving the rest of them sitting uncomfortably around the table. After five minutes, Mr. Weasley seemed to decide that it would be best for him to follow his wife, so he too got up and left the kitchen wordlessly.

George looked expectantly at the four of them, as if assuming that now that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were gone, something interesting was finally going to happen. He was disappointed; the four of them sat silently around the table, staring down at their laps and looking for an escape route.

"Go away," Ginny snarled at her older brother.

George gave her a mock-affronted look. "Why? What have I done?" he asked, putting a hand to his chest as if he was completely innocent. He was in fact, not innocent at all. George had been living in a flat in Diagon Alley for the last few months; he had moved out just after Bill and Fluer moved back in, because Victoire liked to cry in the middle of the night. He had come back to the Burrow for the weekend, and Hermione guessed it was purely for entertainment, and the fact that he never cooked and wanted a good meal.

"You're indecently excited," Ginny snapped, "You do realize mum's never going to speak to us all again, right? And you seem _happy _about it," she said, crossing her arms and glaring at George.

George rolled his eyes in response. "Oh, give it a rest and stop being so dramatic, Ginny; she's going to speak to you again, you're just taking your anger out on me," he said testily.

"Well, you're making it easy for me," she shot back, standing up so quickly that she knocked her chair over.

George didn't deign to respond; he merely shook his head and walked out of the room. Ginny opened her mouth to shout after him, but seemed to think better of it and instead started muttering furiously under her breath.

"Well done, Ginny. Anyone else you'd like to piss off?" Ron asked from the other side of the table. Ginny rounded on him.

"Don't you dare start!" she said, pointing her finger at him in malediction. Ron stood up to face her, and Hermione stood up with him, grabbing onto his sleeve to prevent him from doing anything. Hermione looked down the table at Harry, who was staring at a distinct spot no one else could see.

"Come on," Hermione said to Ron, leading him out of the kitchen before he and Ginny started a fight. There was already too much tension in the house; they didn't need to add to it.

Going to bed that night was slightly awkward; Hermione was sharing a room with Ginny, who seemed to think that Hermione was on Ron's side, and was therefore not talking to her. Hermione didn't even try to respond; she knew that Ginny's anger and hot temper were irrational and merely the effects of being angry at her mother. They turned off the light and laid in the darkness, both girls aware that the other was not sleeping, though neither willing to admit this fact aloud.

Hermione had forgotten what it was like to sleep without Ron next to her, and lying in the small cot in Ginny's room made her feel strangely lonely. She wrapped her arms around her torso, as if to substitute Ron, but it didn't fool her. From the other side of the room Ginny groaned and rolled over, and Hermione knew she was thinking the same thing.

The moon shone in through Ginny's window, casting the bedroom in an eerie half-glow. Everything seemed lit as if under water, and it made Hermione shiver; she felt as if she were drowning. She struggled with the option of sneaking up to Ron's bedroom. She would be able to fall asleep, though if Mrs. Weasley were to find out, she would never be forgiven. She rolled onto her side, flipping her pillow over so that the cooler material lay softly on her cheek. She shut her eyes tightly, envisioning the morning, thinking that if she fell asleep, it would only come sooner.

The minutes passed, though they went by so slowly Hermione felt as if she had been in bed for hours. At two in the morning, she finally made up her mind; she was going up to Ron's room. She would just have to set an alarm clock so that she woke up before Mrs. Weasley. With that thought in mind, she slipped out of the bed and tip-toed quietly across the room. She did not know who she was doing this for; she was very much aware that Ginny was still awake.

The landing outside Ginny's bedroom was very dark; the only window that could provide light was obscured by a tree so that tiny shards of silver light shattered on the stairs, making Hermione feel slightly dizzy. She knew the stair right outside Ginny's bedroom creaked a little, so she skipped that one, trailing her fingers along the wall to help steady her.

She paused on the next landing, wondering if it would be a better idea to just run for it and not stop; the first flight of stairs might as well have been a mountain that had taken days to scale. Her nerves were on edge; every tiny creak in the house made her heart stop beating. Whenever someone shifted in bed behind a closed door, she would freeze. It made her think back to school, when they would sneak out of the dormitories under the protection of the Invisibility Cloak. The thought made her feel nostalgic.

She walked up the next flight of stairs, these ones much darker than the last because there were no windows at all. She paused on the darkened landing and crashed into something very solid and warm.

She wanted to scream, though the rational part of her mind told her not to; if she made any sounds Mrs. Weasley would hear her and know what she was doing at once. Her heart skipped several beats as she thought of Mrs. Weasley: what if that was what she had walked into?

Somewhere very close by, someone muttered "Lumos!" and the hall was bathed in soft, magical light, revealing Harry. Hermione stared up at him, blinking into the unfamiliar brightness and looking up at him in surprise.

"Harry?" she whispered, her voice cracking a little from nonuse. "What are you doing?"

Harry grinned, his green eyes flashing. "What do you think I'm doing? I'm doing the exact same thing you are," he whispered.

Hermione laughed softly. "Is Ron awake?" she asked, thinking that even if he were asleep, there was nothing she could do but keep on going up to his room; she wasn't going to stay in Ginny's room with Harry there as well.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Are you kidding? He's been swearing about how he can't sleep for the last three hours," he said, and Hermione's heart raced with pleasure.

"Well, then I better get up there," she said, sidestepping Harry and walking up the next flight of stairs. She paused, smiling at him. "Goodnight, Harry," she whispered.

Harry grinned back, "Goodnight, Hermione," he said, then turned his back and started retracing her steps.

The thought of Ron waiting for her carried her up the rest of the stairs, and she arrived at Ron's room in what seemed like seconds. She pushed the door open silently, then shut it behind her, jumping at the loud click the lock made.

Ron sat up quickly, not expecting her, then grinned and leaned against the headboard. "Hi," he said in a very croaky sort of voice.

Hermione smiled, crossing the room and sitting down on the edge of his bed. "Hi," she whispered back. She could feel the tension between them, but this tension was nothing like the one in the kitchen a few hours earlier. This was a good kind.

"You know," Ron said, his voice deep. "I've been picturing this sort of thing for a very long time, since I was about thirteen."

Hermione smiled. "What? Me sitting on your bed?"

Ron shook his head. "No, you coming up here in the middle of the night, and…" he stopped, and Hermione could see his ears go slightly red, even in the darkened room.

"And what?" she persuaded.

Ron grinned again. "And I think you know the rest," he said.

Hermione smiled softly, though she did not say that she had envisioned the same sort of thing for a while as well. She crawled up to the front of Ron's bed. Her legs were on either side of his, her arms on his chest. He watched as she slowly leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips.

"Was it something like that?" she asked, sliding smoothly under the sheet, looking up at him. His ears had turned even redder.

"That was even better than I had imagined it," he said in a strangled sort of whisper. He slid down the headboard so that his head was next to hers on his pillow. He brought her in his arms, and Hermione heard herself sigh softly. It was perfect.

They woke up to a loud, harsh knock on the door. Hermione sat upright so fast that the room spun around her. She clutched Ron's blanket to her chest and looked around at him. She was sure that the fear on his face was mirrored in her own. They had forgotten to set an alarm clock.

"Who – who is it?" Ron called out, trying to sound casual. His voice was oddly high-pitched.

"It's me, idiot," Ginny said from the other side of the door, and Hermione let out a gasp of relief. "Mum went down to get some eggs, you two better get downstairs, or she'll suspect something."

Ron swore loudly, then jumped out of bed, taking Hermione's hand and pulling her with him. The next few minutes were a whirlwind of clothes and making sure that they put on the right ones; Hermione had become accustom to getting out of bed and pulling a sweatshirt of Ron's over her head, something she could not do now.

They arrived in the kitchen with enough time to find seats and arrange themselves in convincingly innocent positions before Mrs. Weasley walked in, carrying fresh eggs in a basket. Once again, they were the last to arrive at the table, though no one dared to mention this to Mrs. Weasley.

Breakfast was exactly like dinner the night before; they all ate noisily to cover up the silence in the kitchen. Fifteen minutes into the meal, Ron stood up, looking around the table and then finally Mrs. Weasley, who was eyeing him suspiciously.

"I have something I'd like to say," he said loudly.

"Don't," George advised, though Ron ignored his older brother.

"Mum, Hermione and I share a flat that only has one bedroom and one bed. Same with Harry and Ginny," Ron said. Hermione looked over at Ginny, who had buried her face in her hands, possibly out of embarrassment for her brother. Mrs. Weasley's face was blank. Ron seemed to think this was a good sign, because he kept on talking. "It's almost the twenty-first century, mum. It's not a strange or uncommon thing to do; it's perfectly normal, and we don't want to be punished for that. This isn't some stupid sort of whim where we'll live together for a few months then go our separate ways, I think you know that. I think you know that this is different." Ron said. He seemed to have run out of things to say, because he looked awkwardly around the room, then sat back down promptly, looking down at his lap.

The room was silent, then Mrs. Weasley stood up. There was a collective sharp intake of breath as she made her way towards Ron, who was holding onto the arms of his chair as if for protection. When she finally reached her youngest son, she burst into tears and flung her arms around him, sobbing uncontrollably into his shoulder for reasons best known to herself.

After that, everything seemed to go back to normal; the tension in the room lifted and people started talking again. George just stared disbelievingly at his younger brother, occasionally shaking his head and giving Ron a look of awe.

After breakfast, the four of the decided to go down to the pond to go swimming; it was another stifling hot day. Hermione and Ginny went back to Ginny's room, though this time the air was much different; they talked and laughed as the pulled off their hot clothes and changed into bathing suits.

They met Harry and Ron by the pond, who were talking animatedly, their feet dangling into the clear water. Ginny rushed forward and pushed her brother in. Ron yelped as he fell face first into the pond, surfacing and spitting hair out of his face.

"Not funny Ginny," he growled. "I just saved out necks in there!" he said, with an indecent amount of pride.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "And you're never going to let that one go, are you? That's why I pushed you in. Think of it as a character building experience," she said, putting her hands on her hips and giving her brother an apraising look.

Ron didn't respond. Instead, he grabbed Ginny's ankle and pulled her in with them. She let out a high scream, a mix of delight and shock. When she came back up, she pushed Ron's head under water. Harry, who was bent over laughing, wiped his eyes.

"You should have seen your face," Harry told her. "How were you not expecting th –" but he didn't finish, for Ginny copied Ron and pulled him in too.

Hermione laughed. "Ha! I'm the only one left!" she called out to the three of them." Ron grinned and took her hand and pulled her down. The water felt wonderful, a respite from the dense heat. She stayed down there in the blue-green water for as long as she could until her lungs ached and she came up to the hot surface where the other three were waiting.

They waded in the pond for a long time, laughing and splashing each other, getting out of the water only long enough to jump back in. Hermione remembered the beach in Australia, and that same amount of reckless lack of care and freedom.

She tilted her head back and looked up at the blue, blue sky, the clouds puffing along in front of it. She felt Ron next to her, though she didn't turn to look at him, even when she felt his hand find her waist under the water.

He brought her closer to him, and she back at him, his eyes a mirror of the sky. "You interrupted me," she said with mock anger. She couldn't be mad now, not when everything had miraculously gone so well.

"Sorry," Ron muttered, his fingers trailing lightly over her body under the water. Everything seemed to dim as he got closer to her; she couldn't hear Ginny's shouts of laughter anymore, and the sun wasn't as bright. He brought her even closed to him, his arms firmly around her as he lifted her up so that their faces were on an equal level. Forgetting that Harry and Ginny were right there, and that Mrs. Weasley was merely feet away, she leaned forward and kissed him.

"I can't wait for next weekend," he said, his mouth close to her ear. Hermione pulled back, giving him a hard look. His eyes were open, truthful.

"So you want to go?" she asked him. "Are you sure?" Hermione's parents had invited the two of them to spend the weekend up in their summer house. Ron had been indecently excited about the invitation; growing up with little money, he seemed to think that a summer house was an extravagent mansion with thick carpets and silk-covered walls. She had had to shatter his vision by describing the cabin with three rooms and a leaky roof.

Ron nodded fervently. "I'm sure. I'd really like to go, I like your parents," he said, and she knew he meant it.

"You'll have to listen to dad's hour long lectures on fillings and cavities," she warned him, because she wanted him to know what he was getting himself into before he signed on.

Ron grinned. "Do you know how many times you've sat in on dad's wild stories about eklectricity and telphones?" he asked her, raising an eyebrow and laughing.

"Electricity and telephones," Hermione corrected automatically. Ron rolled his eyes at her familiar know-it-all tone and pushed her head under water. When she came back up, he was waiting for her.

"I want to go," he said again, and she smiled, picturing Ron in the cabin. He would try and light the wood stove then give up and use his wand instead, when he thought no one was looking.

"Okay," she said. And although she had been hesitant to accept at first, now she found herself looking forward to next weekend. For one thing, there was only one guest bedroom.

_Author's Note: I tried to make it a long chapter to make up for the fact that I haven't updated in a while :) The next chapter will be the two of them at Hermione's parent's house._

_I'm sorry if there was some confusion; there were supposed to be astrices separating the change in times, but for some reason fanfiction wouldn't let me put those in. Sorry!_

_As always, reviews would be amazing!_

_PS - If anyone reading this lives in England, is there a common place where people have summer houses? I live in the US so I have no idea!_


	31. Twenty

_Author's Note: First of all, I would like to give you all a million apologies for the disgustingly long time it took me to post this chapter. However, in my defense, I've been sick with mono for the last three weeks, so I haven't had much time to write!_

_Secondly, I would like to thank all of the people who helped me with my questions in the AN for chapter 30…which was so long ago! I'd like to thank LittleLissi, ermireallydontcare, IncWeaverabc, GinnyWeasleyRocks, and especially MODA. _

_Also, thank you to everyone who sent messages asking me to update! It helped!_

_And now…enjoy! _

…

Chapter Thirty One:

The chink in the heavy curtains was parted slightly, so that the dusty, feeble light of early autumn wove its way through the room, leaving a dull warmth in its wake. It was not this that woke Hermione up, as suddenly and as fully as if she had set an alarm. There was a dull weight in the pit of her stomach, a familiar twist of anxiety. She did not know what it was. She watched as a bird flew in front of the window, temporarily blocking the small string of light. Fingers clutching the thin blanket wrapped around her, she rolled onto her back. As if this small movement had dislodged the uncertainty, she realized what she was feeling. This wasn't just another Saturday. It was her birthday. And she was no longer a teenager.

She did not know why this affected her; she had never really felt like a teenager. Not in the traditional sense, at least. As she lay there, Ron snoring steadily beside her, she went over in her mind all of the things that had happened to her during her teenaged years.

Thirteen: she had started second year at Hogwarts. She had been Petrified, which was probably the most important part of that year for her. But she had also realized that Ron and Harry were different to her, even though at the time she could not understand why.

Fourteen: She had the Time Turner, which allowed her to turn back days and do them all over again, a secret she had guarded all year. She and Harry had saved Sirius and Buckbeack, and had been able to answer why Harry and Ron were different, though she still lied to herself about it.

Fifteen: Harry had been chosen for the Triwizard Tournament, another year of constant worry, which was starting to feel normal. She had had her first kiss, though it wasn't from the boy she had wanted. She had experienced Ron's jealousy, which – for some reason – filled her up more than any kiss from an international Quidditch player could.

Sixteen: she, Harry, and Ron had rebelled against Umbridge and the Ministry. She remembered the Department of Mysteries, where Sirius had died. She and Ron had the undecided agreement that if they bickered more, then it must mean that they didn't like each other. It had been a year of small, nasty fights that flickered and died, leaving darkness and truth.

Seventeen: Harry became the Chosen One, the one who had to kill Voldemort. Dumbledore had died, though at the time they thought Snape had murdered him. Ron had gone out with Lavender and Hermione – though she had never intended it to happen – watched as her heart broke. But then, miraculously, they broke up and Ron and Hermione became….well, nothing really. But certainly more than they had been before. Their unspoken conversations were growing thinner.

Eighteen: they had left Hogwarts and traveled around England in a tent, where they brushed death so many times it still made her shiver. And how many nights had she stayed awake, watching him sleep from her own camp bed, convincing herself that if he actually liked her, he would have said something by now? And then he had stood up for Elf Rights –something he cared nothing about but something she did – and for that reason she had…well, thrown herself at him. And then everything changed.

Nineteen, last year. She marveled over how much had changed in that one year. She had gotten a job, she had found her parents, she had turned down her N.E.W.T.S. And Ron. She had moved in with him, she had said she loved him, he had said he loved her. They had kissed and laughed and had fallen asleep together, his head resting on her pillow.

Hermione looked up at the ceiling, still thinking. Really, twenty was hardly different than nineteen. She had not changed during the night; she was still the same person. But her teenaged years had been such an important part of her life. She had experienced so much, and it felt strange to leave those years behind. From her left, Ron gave an incredibly loud snore that seemed to wake up even himself; he groaned and rolled over towards her, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before he opened them.

"Happy Birthday," he croaked, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

Hermione smiled, turning toward him too. "Thanks," she said. Her voice was cracked from sleep as well.

He leaned forward and kissed her, her hair getting in the way and falling over the two of them. Hermione laughed softly and Ron pushed it away with the hand that was not wrapped around her waist, his lips never leaving hers.

When they came up for air, Ron rolled over onto his back and looked around Hermione's room. It was the first time the two of them had stayed over at her parent's house for the weekend, and the first time he had been in her bedroom. The Grangers' had allowed it; they were more forward thinking than Ron's parents.

"Hermione," Ron said slowly. "I don't mean to hurt your feeling or anything, but your room is a bit weird," he said.

Hermione laughed, covering her mouth with her hand because the noise sounded too loud in the early morning. Her room was more like a library; the walls were covered with bookshelves, each row filled with books. Some of them overflowed onto the floor where they stood in neat piles, collecting dust. The only spare bit of wall was the one behind her bed. Hermione had rarely spent any time at home since she had started school; most of her holidays were spent with Harry and Ron, or on trips abroad with her parents. The wall behind her bed, however, was the only breathing proof that she had ever lived there at all. The space was entirely covered with photographs, all moving and smiling at the bookshelf that stood opposite them. Her bed, which was covered with a ridiculously frilly pink duvet her mother had foolishly bought her, was placed oddly in the middle of all of bookshelves. It looked as though an information desk could have sat in its place.

"Yes," she said finally, after surveying her bedroom, "I suppose it is a bit…" her voice trailed off, trying to find the right word.

"Like being back in the Hogwarts library?" Ron supplied helpfully. "I keep on thinking Madam Pince is going to poke out from behind one of those shelves," he added.

Hermione slapped his arm playfully. "Oh, don't _say_ that! Now I'm going to think that too!" she cried, launching herself on top of him and pretending to attack.

They rolled off the side of the bed and onto the wood floor with a resounding crash, Ron falling on his back and taking Hermione and the duvet with him. Ron let out a shout of mingled surprise and pain, and then swore loudly. Hermione put a finger to his lips to quiet him. Her parents may be understanding when it came to them sleeping in the same room, but she did not want them to find her and Ron in this position exactly.

Hermione made to get up, but Ron grabbed her arm and pulled her back down, so that she was on top of him again, one leg on either side of his. She laughed and pretended to struggle against him, though she did it half-heartedly.

They both jumped a quarter of an hour later when Hermione's mother called up the stairs that breakfast was ready. Hermione leapt to her feet – this time she was not impeded by Ron – and looked around guiltily, as if her mother had called her from the doorway. Ron stood up too, looking distinctly disheveled.

Hermione was at the door when Ron grabbed her hand again. She whipped around, giving him a questioning look. Ron was suddenly looking much more serious, his eyes were darker and his hair, which had been standing on end, seemed to almost droop.

"Hermione," he said, his voice very low. He was not looking her in the eyes.

"Yes?" she asked slowly; she started to feel nervous. She had not let go of his hand. "What's wrong?"

Ron still would not look at her. "Hermione," he tried again. "I – I don't have anything for you…for your birthday," he said, his voice low and miserable.

Hermione stood there, blinking at him. She wasn't sure how to feel exactly. She was disappointed, of course, though she did not want to admit it. Although she had never really enjoyed the heightened attention from birthdays, she _had _expected a gift from Ron. Though judging by the look on his face, Ron was already punishing himself.

"Oh," she said, her voice tiny. She did not want to show him how disappointed she was, not yet.

Ron finally looked up at her, his eyes pleading. "Listen," he said. "I'm…I'm saving up for…for something," he finished lamely. "The thing is, I don't make much as an Auror trainee, so it's been a bit slow. And I wanted to get you something for today but…"

Hermione didn't let him finish. Rising on her toes, she kissed him softly on the cheek. "It's okay Ron," she said simply. She did not mind, not really.

Ron took a step back. "No, it's not," he said seriously. "You deserve something. You deserve _everything_, more than I can give you. But I promise, when I'm done saving up for this, you'll be happy. It's good. It's really, really good," a light lit up in his eyes.

Hermione tilted her head, thinking. "What are you saving up for, Ron?" she asked curiously.

Ron grinned. "I can't tell you, it's a secret."

Hermione gave him a searching look. "Come on!" she said, pulling his hand. "Tell me!" she cried.

Ron shook his head resolutely. "I can't. Trust me, it's better this way. If I tell you, it won't be a _surprise_!" Ron said in a maddeningly happy voice.

Hermione gave him a hard look, but decided to drop the subject. She knew he would not tell her, not now. Though the subject was placed carefully in the back of her mind.

They arrived in the kitchen a few minutes later to find Hermione's father at the stove and Hermione's mother taking out plates from the cabinet over the sink. They both turned simultaneously as the two walked in and rushed over to greet Hermione so enthusiastically that Ron had to take a step back to avoid injury. Hermione could understand her parent's excitement; she had not been home for a birthday since the year she turned eleven, the year before she started school. Therefore, she indulged her parents as they ushered her to a chair and began piling food on her plate and dangling gifts in front of her face. Ron sat beside her, looking rather amused yet helplessly so as Hermione was showered in unwanted attention.

Somewhere amidst her father's second chorus of "Happy Birthday" her mother said, "And the Weasleys are coming over later, so if you don't mind, a little help in the kitchen would be wonderful. I feel awful, since it's your birthday, but there are so many of them…"

Ron choked on the tea he had been drinking and looked at Hermione's mother with mingled shock and terror. "What?" he croaked. Hermione gave her mother an equally confused look.

"I thought my birthday dinner was just going to be the four of us, Mum," she said, as this had been the plan her mother had originally proposed.

Hermione's mother beamed at her. "Oh, it was, at first. And then I realized how lovely it would be to have Ron's family over as well, so I invited them!" she said, clapping her hands together in delight.

"You – you did?" Ron asked hoarsely.

Hermione's mother nodded, oblivious to his shock. "Yes, but there's still so much to do! Hermione, you wouldn't mind, would you?"

Hermione shook her head numbly. She was trying to imagine all of the Weasleys in her parent's house.

Once the breakfast dishes had been cleared and the ripped wrapping paper had been wiped off the table, Hermione joined her mother at the sink. Ron hung back a little, looking slightly apprehensive.

"What am I supposed to do?" he asked Hermione in an anxious whisper.

Hermione smiled. She knew he was thinking that he would have to spend this time alone with Mr. Granger. Although Hermione's father liked Ron, Hermione knew that Ron got inexplicably nervous when the two had to spend time alone together.

"You can help us in the kitchen," she suggested.

Hermione's mother overheard them. "Oh, yes, an extra set of hands would be wonderful! Put on an apron, Ron!" she called merrily to him.

Ron's eyes widened, though Hermione did not know if it was because he was being asked to cook, or being asked to put on an apron that held a great resemblance to Hermione's duvet upstairs. He hesitated for a moment, and then looked at Hermione out of the corner of his eye. She was standing in the corner, biting on her knuckles to keep from laughing. He sighed deeply, and then took the apron from Mrs. Granger, who laughed happily and then returned to the stove. He tied it around his neck, where it clashed horribly with his hair. He gave her an _I'm-only-doing-this-for-you_ look before taking his place at the sink and washing sprouts. Hermione smiled to herself.

With three pairs of hands in the kitchen, they were done cooking by midday, and everything was ready by the time the Weasleys arrived at six. Mrs. Granger, who seemed indecently excited to be hosting something for once, stood by the sitting room window to announce that a car had just pulled into the drive. They went outside to greet them and Mrs. Granger got quite a shock when she realized that the small black car held all eleven of her guests; for out piled Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Fleur, Victoire, Percy, Audrey, George, Harry, Ginny, and Teddy. She stared open-mouthed at them with Hermione caught in between, at a loss for what to say.

Mrs. Weasley didn't give Hermione an opportunity to explain Undetectable Extension Charms; she rushed through the crowd assembled on the drive and gave Mrs. Granger a very tight hug. "It was so nice of you to invite us all," she said happily. Mrs. Granger looked taken aback, then pleased.

Hermione's father, who had just come out of the garage, greeted their many guests as well. Hermione noted he had lost track of the time and had not changed out of his dirty clothes; he was still holding a hammer and there was grease on his pants. Hermione saw Mr. Weasley craning around to see the contents of the garage, his face alit with delight. From her left, Ron gave a defeated sort of moan.

With much difficulty, owning to the shear number of them, they made their way into the house. Ron and Mr. Granger had pushed back the furniture in the living room so that one long table could extend from the kitchen into the sitting room. She watched as her mother happily dictated where everyone could sit, though she caught Hermione before she sat down and directed her to a chair at the head of the table, where a great number of balloons had been tied to the back.

"Here, Hermione," George said above the din of people scraping back their chairs and passing her a wrapped gift. Seeing George, who was sitting across from her, Mrs. Weasley took out her gift too, and handed it to Hermione as well. Soon, she was showered in a cascade of boxes that obstructed her vision. Ron and Harry, who were sitting on the two sides next to her, laughed and helped clear the presents.

They sat around the table as Hermione's mother finished in the kitchen. Mrs. Granger, who was bustling around and humming "Happy Birthday" under her breath, shouted down every offer for help, and set down the meal twenty minutes later looking immensely proud of herself. Hermione beamed at her mother; her happiness seemed contagious.

For the first ten minutes, the room was filled with the musical sound of clinks on china and dull thuds as glasses were lifted and put down. There was a murmur of compliments at Mrs. Granger's delicious food, which made her mother inflate with happiness even more. Mrs. Weasley took one bite of Mrs. Granger's chicken and exclaimed that she must have the recipe. Teddy, who was sitting between Harry and Ginny, displayed equal pleasure in the dinner, though he showed this by spreading the food around his face and into his hair when Harry wasn't looking.

At the far end of the table, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Granger were deep in conversation about motorboats; Hermione's father was explaining how they worked to a simply dumbfounded Mr. Weasley. Further down, Fleur, Bill, Percy, and Audrey were deep in conversation over some scandal at the Ministry, which meant they were missing George, who was entertaining a delighted Victoire by changing the color of Percy's hair, which miraculously went unnoticed. In the center of the table, Hermione smiled as she saw Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Granger, their heads close together discussing something in whispers. Though something about the way they would occationally look up at Hermione and Ron made it clear to her exactly what the two mothers were talking about. Hermione turned to Ron, who seemed to read her expression. His hand found hers under the table and grasped it tightly. Everything was perfectly, perfectly right.

"So, Hermione," Harry said, who was wiping the mashed potatoes out of Teddy's neon green hair. His hair was changing to match the colors George was turning Percy's. When Victoire discovered this, she shrieked with mirth, and George silently shook with laughter. "Did you have a good birthday?"

Ron's foot found hers under the table and she struggled to keep a straight face. "Yes, I did," she said slowly and evenly. Ginny paused in cleaning Teddy's hands and gave her a knowing look.

"What did you get her, Ron," she asked. Ron looked as though he was hoping this conversation would not come up.

"I don't know yet," Hermione said, saving him. "It's a surprise."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You mean you haven't gotten anything yet?" he asked in shock, while Ginny shook her head with what was clearly disappointment in her older brother.

Hermione watched as Ron's and Harry's eyes met over the table laden with food. Harry gave a knowing nod and dropped the subject. Hermione, however, was not finished.

"What? You know what it is?" she asked, looking between the two of them. Ron was giving her an apologetic smile, while Harry shoveled food in his mouth to avoid answering.

"I had to tell someone," Ron defended himself. "And I couldn't tell you, obviously. So I told Harry."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "That's not fair! I don't like surprises anymore, what is it?" she asked, as Ron grinned at her.

Harry shook his head. "Believe me, Hermione, you want this to be a surprise," he said. Ginny looked confused as well. Hermione was about to open her mouth to argue, but Mrs. Weasley, who was separated from Hermione by Harry, Teddy, and Ginny, shifted in her seat so as to see Hermione.

"You know, Hermione," Mrs. Weasley started, a familiar gleam in her eye. Hermione's heart quickened; she knew what was coming next, and there was no way to stop it. "By the time _I_ was twenty, Bill was a toddler and Charlie was on the way," she told her.

"Really?" Hermione said weakly, because she did not know what to say. She felt her cheeks flame up in embarrassment. All around her, people seemed to be sharing this feeling. George, who was sitting next to his mother, stopped in his Transfiguration of Percy's hair halfway between purple and yellow, so that Percy now resembled an odd, brightly colored skunk, with a line of yellow going down the middle of his hair. Harry grimaced at Hermione in a helpless sort of way, and Ginny rolled her eyes, shaking her head and giving her mother a look, which she missed. Ron had dived under the table to retrieve his fork, which he had purposely dropped in order to avoid the conversation.

For a few breath-halting seconds, the room was thickly consumed with awkwardness. Thankfully, the tension lifted when Percy finally discovered that his hair had been changing colors for the better part of an hour.

When everyone was too full to eat anymore, they made their way outside onto the patio. The last remnants of summer lingered in the air; the chill of autumn could be felt as the wind gently played on their faces. Teddy, whose hair had turned back to its normal shade now that Percy's had stopped changing, ran around the yard while a jealous-looking Victoire watched from her father's arms. Mr. Granger and Mr. Weasley disappeared into the garage. Hermione hoped that her father would have enough sense not to show Mr. Weasley the power saw he had gotten for his last birthday. After chatting happily with Ginny for several minutes, her eyes found Ron, who looked as though he was trapped in a conversation with Percy. She watched as Percy held up his thumb and forefinger, which could only mean one thing: cauldron thickness regulations. Hermione smiled and excused herself from Ginny, who was now talking to Hermione's mother and Harry.

She slipped her hand softly into Ron's and he turned to look at her, his face splitting with happiness. Percy, who looked slightly disgruntled that he had lost his reluctant audiance, turned to find the next person he could lecture, leaving the two of them standing alone.

Ron's eyes looked up at the darkened window of her bedroom and then to her face, a grin playing at the corner of his mouth. "No one would notice," he told her, his eyebrows raised.

Hermione bit her lip, thinking, then shook her head. "I can't, it's _my_ birthday party, I can't just leave it," she said, resigned.

"No one would notice," Ron repeated, squeezing her hand gently. She smiled.

As if on cue, Harry picked up Teddy, who was on his eighth lap around the house, and held him securely in his arms. "I think we should be leaving soon," he said to the garden at large. "Andromeda will kill me if Teddy's cranky tomorrow," he added, looking down affectionately at the toddler in his arms.

The Weasleys filed out of the house, saying a last happy birthday to Hermione, and thanking the Grangers again for a wonderful evening. The four stood in the front yard as the Weasleys and Harry piled into the car and slowly backed out of the driveway, Mrs. Granger's mouth still open in awe.

Hermione offered to help clean up the mess in the kitchen, but her parents dismissed it at once, saying that it was her birthday and she ought to have a night off. After a few minutes of pointless arguing, she decided to give up and kissed her parents goodnight.

"Happy birthday, dear," her mother whispered in her ear, holding her tightly. Hermione smiled and hugged her back, wondering why there was a strange pressure behind her eyes.

Once they left the kitchen, Ron all but ran upstairs; he was in the bedroom a few seconds before Hermione, who laughed when she saw him standing in the middle of the bedroom, looking anxious.

Carefully, she shut the door behind her and turned to Ron, who was just visible in the half-darkness of the bedroom. She did not bother to turn on the lights. She stepped out of her dress and took a step closer to Ron, who was struggling to get his shirt over his head. When he finally managed it, his hair was on end and his ears were red, even by the dim light of the moon.

He was close now, she could see the freckles on his nose. There were more of them; he always got more in the summer.

"Happy birthday, Hermione," he said.

…

_Author's Note: Yes, I do know what Ron's surprise is, and no I'm not going to say what it is, but it will definitely come up! In the mean time I'd love to hear your ideas as to what it is! Please review if you can! Also, I posted another story called "Asleep" if anyone has a chance to check it out. It started off as a one-shot but I'm thinking of adding to it…_

_Happy summer for all of you on vacation! _


	32. Memos

_Author's Note: Thank you all for the reviews for chapter 31, I'm sorry I didn't get around to sending you all personalized thank you's. I loved reading all of your ideas for Ron's surprise. Unfortunately, you won't find out what it is in this chapter, I'm so sorry, I hope it's not a huge disappointment! But it's coming, don't worry! I'd also like to thank the reviewers who asked how I was feeling, this chapter is for you guys!_

_Sorry for the slight delay – this chapter was supposed to go out on Sunday, but my computer died, which meant that I lost most of this chapter and had to start all over. But I like this version better, so everyone wins : ) I know a few people reviewed chapter 31 or my other things and said they hoped I continue writing this. Just to clear things up – I plan on finishing this story, I just had a really long period in between chapters 30 and 31 because I was sick. I didn't want people to think that because there wasn't an update on Sunday, I wasn't writing any more. I am, don't worry! I actually figured out how I'm going to end the story a few days ago, which was sad because I've had so much fun writing it! But don't read too much into that, it's going to take a while!_

_Here's a fluffy chapter, I hope you all enjoy it! Also, if you have a chance please check out my new story "And the Smell of Your Hair" which I never planned on writing, but I couldn't help it once I saw the Deathly Hallows trailer : ) I will add to that as well as soon as I can. I'm working off of a late-1990s computer right now, so it might be a bit touch-and-go until I can get a new one._

…

Chapter 32 –

It was barely past six in the morning, though the floor-length mirrors in the Atrium were dazzled with bright light, making crossed patterns of gold on the tiled floor as Hermione crossed the large rectangular room from one of the farthest fire places. The Atrium was almost empty; a few haggard and worn looking wizards were shuffling back and forth, their eyes heavy and bloodshot. Friday mornings were particularly slow; with the thought of the weekend so close, few people had the desire to wake up and go to work early. These Ministry workers clearly had this idea in mind; their faces showed that they would rather be anywhere but here. Hermione, in contrast, crossed the room with purpose and alertness. She loved going into work early. There was something about a silent office and the thought that she was being productive while everyone else was still in bed. Which was why she showed no signs of sleepiness as she shouldered her briefcase more securely and waved to a witch who worked in her department. Ron told her that she was mad; why go to work two hours early when she could stay in a nice warm bed? She had to admit, his suggestion had been tempting this morning; it had been extremely difficult to wriggle out of his grip and leave the warmth of sleep behind. But the idea that there was a weekend in a few hours, and not to mention a full inbox in front of her, gave her the drive.

The Security Guard raised his hand in greeting as Hermione passed him. She made a detour in her path to the elevator. The two of them had become friends in the many mornings Hermione had arrived early to work. His name was Isaac, and he worked the early morning shift, which meant that he was one of the only people here who was just as awake as she was.

"Hi Isaac, how are you?" she asked cheerfully, placing her mug of tea on the desk and leaning closer, her elbows on the cool marble.

Isaac smiled. "Fine, fine. Why are you here so early, eh?" he asked. Hermione laughed and shook her head. There was something about him that reminded her of her grandfather; it was disarmingly endearing. He was a round old man with a completely bald head which was compensated by very full, white beard. He always wore red robes, which contributed to Hermione's vision of a large Father Christmas guarding the Ministry of Magic.

"Oh, I have a lot of work to do," she said in an offhand sort of way, because they had had this conversation countless times and this was always the answer she gave.

Isaac shook his head. "You do more work here than the damn Minister. Why don't they give you a raise?" he asked, giving her a smile and a compliment, which he always seemed to have plenty of when the topic of discussion was Hermione and work. Hermione smiled back in return. She remembered the first time she had mentioned Isaac to Ron; he had been jealous for weeks, though this had ended when she reminded him that Isaac was about eighty.

"Do you have any plans for the weekend?" she asked him, taking a sip of her tea and nearly burning her throat in the process.

Isaac shook his head. "Nah, just a quiet weekend with the missus, and you?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head as well. "No, just a quiet weekend as well, I think," she answered.

Isaac raised his very shaggy white eyebrows. "No plans with Ron, huh?" he asked, a glint in his eyes. Isaac was very interested in Hermione's relationship with Ron, or maybe just the topic of Ron in general. She supposed it reminded him of his youth, or something like that. Whenever Isaac saw her he never failed to mention Ron, no matter how far he had to stretch the conversation to fit him in. Not that Hermione minded, of course.

Hermione smiled and felt herself blush. In truth, she and Ron would probably spend the weekend the same way that they usually did: two days in bed completely devoid of clothing and only moving when they needed food or to send an owl back to a family member, insisting that yes, they were both still alive. Though obviously she never told this to Isaac. "No plans," she said simply, hoping her pink face wouldn't give her away.

Isaac shook his head wisely. "Ah, young love. I remember when Mary and I first got a flat. We would spend the entire day in bed, rolling around like a pair of – "

"Isaac!" Hermione exclaimed, now sure that her face was bright red.

Isaac smiled at her again, then glanced down at her hand. "And the boy still hasn't proposed?"

Hermione felt her cheeks turn, if possible, even pinker. Maybe it wasn't her grandfather Isaac reminded her of. Maybe it was Mrs. Weasley. "No, he hasn't. He's nineteen, you know. And I turned twenty barely two months ago. That's a bit young to get married!" she said, raising an eyebrow at the old man.

Isaac just shrugged. "If _I_ were him I'd put a ring on your finger the moment I met you. I wouldn't let you get away," he told her, and she smiled. "You know, maybe I'll find this Ron Weasley. You say he works in the Auror Department? Maybe I'll just go down there during my break and tell him – "

"_Goodbye_, Isaac," Hermione said forcefully, though she smiled as she took her mug off of the desk and turned back to the lifts. As much as she loved Isaac, she didn't need another person asking her when wedding bells would be ringing. She got enough of it from Mrs. Weasley, who pestered her about marriage when she was taking a break from pestering Ginny. Hermione knew it made Ron nervous, which in turn made _her_ nervous.

The lift was completely empty, which was perhaps the only part of waking up early to go to work that Hermione did not like. She did not mind the empty office and the empty corridors, but she _did_ mind the empty lifts. She had no idea why; it was completely irrational. Perhaps it was the fact that the lift was made of four walls of mirrors, which meant that Hermione was forced to look at four reflections of herself as she traveled deeper into the Ministry. It was a very odd feeling.

When she got to her Department, the corridor was almost completely empty. There was one haggard looking wizard who was waiting for the lift; he shuffled in the moment she got out. He had dark bags under his eyes and his face was an unhealthy whitish grey. He looked as though he had been here all night long. Hermione didn't have time to say hello or good morning; the lift doors had already clanked shut and the man had disappeared.

Hermione walked to her desk, the heels of her shoes echoing in the empty cavernous room. Her desk was neat, which served as a contrast to Will's which was positioned opposite hers and extremely messy. She shook her head at it before sitting down and taking out the contents of her inbox. There was actually very little to do, which made her wish that perhaps she should have stayed home, curled up next to Ron. But then she remembered that she was sitting in on an important meeting later that day with her boss, Madame Houghton. She wanted to prepare as much as she could, to make a good impression. The point of her job was that she was meeting people higher up, which meant that one day, she could have their jobs and could change things. She spent nights listening to Ron, Harry, and Ginny's stories of their thrilling careers, knowing that one day, she would be able to join in. She just had to be patient, that's all.

Taking a stack of memos that had been shoved unceremoniously into her inbox, she went to the library to look up a few figures before her meeting. In the stack of parchment she found a few notes scribbled in what looked like Will's handwriting. She rolled her eyes and put these notes on the bottom of her pile.

Ron and Will had the same philosophy when it came to working: leave what can be done now to the last minute. She remembered how Ron would begin essays and assignments at midnight the morning the paper was due in. Even if he had been completely free that afternoon to start working on it, he wouldn't start until he absolutely had to. Will was the same way. The only difference between the two of them was that Ron actually managed to finish everything. Even if he had to work all night and sacrifice sleep, Ron would do what needed to be done. He would complain and moan and sometimes as her to finish it for him, but he would have something to pass in. Will seemed to take a more defeatist approach: since it had to be done in six hours, why do it at all? This meant that he usually gave Hermione the work that he hadn't done, attached with notes that read: "_Saw this a few hours ago and didn't think I'd do a good job of it. It'll take at least three hours to do and I only have two. Do you think you can give it a try? Thanks, Will. PS – it was due in last Wednesday_."

For the first few months Hermione had humored him and had taken on the extra work. She didn't mind it, she liked being in the library working, she was _learning_. But then her boss began noticing Will's excellent work and started giving him compliments on the diligent job he was doing. If there was one thing Hermione couldn't stand, it was someone taking the credit for someone else's work. This was why – no matter how much she denied the fact that it had been because he was better at Potions – she had hated the Half-Blood Prince. Though she had reason for that in the end, hadn't she?

The library, like everywhere else, was empty. Though this didn't feel as different to her; the library was rarely teeming with people. Hermione found a comfortable corner with a desk and a nice view out of the window and sat down to do work. Magical Maintenance hadn't been here yet today; the view outside the window was still a dark and starry night, rather than reflecting the first snowfall of the season as all the other windows had.

By half eight, Hermione had finished the stack of memos that had been sent to her –except for the ones sent by Will – and decided to head back to her desk. The room was just starting to fill with people, though they still seemed hesitant to begin working. Most people were leaning across their cubicles, chatting with their neighbors and sharing weekend plans.

Will's desk, however, was still empty. Hermione sighed and sat down at her desk, putting the notes Will had given her into his own inbox. Then, she took out a book on dragon regulations and opened it to the page she had carefully marked the night before. The meeting she was sitting in on with Madame Houghton was to discuss the regulatory laws concerning Irish dragons, because the laws were a bit sketchy and there had been eight Muggle sightings in the last three months. This was Hermione's first meeting with representatives of another Ministry. Of course, she wouldn't do any of the talking, she was just there for the experience, but it was still an opportunity. She was excited, and tried to explain it over dinner last night, though Ron had not understood.

Will slouched in forty five minutes later and forty five minutes late. Hermione snapped her book shut and sat up straight. She had been up for hours and therefore felt perfectly capable of reprimanding someone, even though Will looked as though he had been awake for barely five minutes.

"Where have you been?" she hissed, leaning across her desk so that he could hear her. Despite being late, he had not begun working at all; he had merely kicked off his shoes and put his head on his desk.

"Quit shouting," he said in a muffled groan. "You're yelling and it's really, really not helpful right now," he said.

Hermione sat back, her eyes narrow. "Are you hung-over?" she whispered, unsure if he would be able to hear her over the chatter of the office.

Will lifted his head with what seemed to be an indecent amount of energy. "No," he said sarcastically. "I usually look this great in the morning," he said snappily, and put his head back on his desk. If he was able to be rude then he lost her sympathy.

Hermione folded her arms across her chest. "The weekend is _one day_ away. You couldn't have waited?" she asked with an air of superiority that she knew would drive him mad.

"Look, Hermione," Will said, lifting his head to talk to her. "I'm not perfect like you. I'm sorry my moral compass doesn't point due north, like yours. Is it nice to repeatedly rub it in like that? I know it must be unbearable for you to work with someone as flawed as me, but could you just give me a break for five minutes, or at least until the room stops spinning?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, though she knew that he was touchy due to his hangover, not because he normally acted this way. "Flattering me isn't going to work. You have so much to do, at least a dozen people have dropped by to give you notes, and that's adding onto the ones you slipped into my inbox yesterday," she said testily.

Will looked up and gave her a red-eyed look of resentment. "I can't do any work today," he said, his voice a very hoarse croak.

Hermione rolled her eyes again. "That's a _great_ excuse Will. Why don't you skip over to Madame Houghton and tell her that one. I'm sure she'll be _so_ understanding, considering she has a huge meeting today," she said sarcastically, giving him a hard look. "Just out of curiosity, _why_ can't you work today?"

Will gave her an incredulous look, as if she had just asked him to recount his worst memory. "The Canons lost last night. Haven't you talked to Ron this morning?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, I was asleep by the time he came home, and I left really early, before he had woken up. Why?" she asked. Ever since they had met in the library, Will and Ron went out listen to the Canons match at a pub in Diagon Alley every time there was a game. Hermione had accompanied them the first several times, but after a while she stopped going and had dinner with her parents or Harry and Ginny instead. The evenings with Ron and Will were always determined by the score of the game, which meant that inevitably, moods turned sour.

"Because the Canons had the worst game in history, and I think that's saying something, considering what happened in their match versus the Welsh Walruses in 1976," he said with a moan, cradling his head in his hands.

"What happened?" Hermione asked in spite of herself.

Will gulped. "We lost 860 to 10, and that ten was scored by the opposite team, out of _pity_. We lost five players to injury, which is a feat in itself. Mind you, Tucker's injury was self-inflicted; he somehow miraculously managed to knock _himself_ out," Will said, looking as though he might be sick.

Hermione tried to make a sympathetic face, though she was not sure if it was convincing enough; she had never seen the appeal in Quidditch. "Oh," she said helplessly, because there was nothing else she could think of. "So naturally you had to get drunk afterwards," she said, trying to keep the sarcasm in her voice at a minimum. She was still stinging from Will's rudeness.

Will looked up at her. "Don't judge me. It's not fair to do it when I can't at least fight back," he said. When she said nothing, he rolled his eyes and nodded. "_Yes_, I got drunk afterwards. You would too if your favorite team just played the worse game in the world," he said, trying to maintain some of his dignity.

"No I wouldn't," Hermione said truthfully.

Will gave her a withering look. "Well, no. _You_ wouldn't. But some of us would. Some of us with close to fifty Galleons on that game!" he cried. It seemed as though even his own voice hurt his head, because he moaned again and covered his eyes with his hands.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, because she really was sorry that he had lost so much money. Even though she thought that by now, he should have enough sense to not bet as much on the Canons. It was basic probability. "Do you want me to get you some tea or something?" she asked.

Will shook his head, which made his skin tinge green. He dove under his desk and got sick in his rubbish bin. Hermione tried not to look too disgusted.

"Did Ron get drunk as well?" she asked loudly, over the sound of his retching.

Will reappeared from under his desk, wiping his mouth on the corner of his sleeve. His face had regained some of its color. "Of course he didn't. He knows you don't like it when he drinks too much. He had one Firewhisky, that's all," he said, diving under his desk again.

Hermione smiled widely, though stopped the moment Will reappeared. "Are you feeling better?" she asked him.

Will put his head back on his desk, his hair flopping over onto his ink blotter. "I'm feeling perfect," he said sarcastically, then said something that Hermione could not understand, owing to the fact that he was speaking into his desk.

"What?" she asked, leaning forward a little.

Will lifted his head off of his desk again so that she could hear him. "I said you have a memo," he repeated, then promptly put his head back down.

Hermione turned and saw a paper airplane with Ministry of Magic stamped on the edge in purple ink hovering close to her right shoulder. She snatched it out of the air and opened it, though she knew whom it was from even before she had fully unfolded it.

_Hi – _

_Sorry I got back so late last night. I had to make sure Will was alright before I came home. I'm sure you know by now that he had a bit too much to drink. Anyway, you were sleeping when I got in and I didn't want to wake you. Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you look when you're sleeping?_

_Ron_

Hermione smiled widely at the paper. She especially loved the way "home" looked in his messy writing. It looked perfect. The last sentence made her blush as she read it over and over. Will eyed her shrewdly.

"It's from Ron, isn't it?" he asked, and Hermione gave him a dangerous look. Will managed a small smile for the first time all morning.

She reached into her drawer and pulled out a piece of Ministry stationary used for sending interdepartmental memos. She hated using it to send notes to Ron because it was cold and impersonal, but at least when she used it no one knew what they were writing. Taking a quill out of the holder on her desk, she wrote back.

_Hi _

_You might have mentioned it a few times…Will's alright, he told me what happened last night. Sorry about the match. What time did you get in? I can't wait for the season to be over; it felt strange sleeping alone. The bed is really big, you know._

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

She tapped her wand at the piece of paper, which instantly folding itself into an airplane and zoomed off, joining a few other airplanes that were making their way out of the room. Will was still looking at her curiously.

"_What_?" she finally asked him, because he was starting to make her feel uncomfortable.

Will shook his head, grinning. "Oh, nothing. You're _really_ obvious, you know that," he told her.

Hermione's mouth dropped open in mock horror. "I am _not_!" she said, opening her book again, though she knew she wouldn't read it; Will wasn't going to let the conversation go. His last round of vomiting seemed to have given him strength again, and now that he was back to normal, he was going to nag her just like she had nagged him.

"Please," Will said scathingly. "I can always tell when you're writing to Ron, because you go bright red and you bend your head lower, like I'm going to try and read it or something," he said.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but said nothing, least of all because she could feel that her cheeks had turned pink. "You _do_ try and read it," she told him, trying to sound dignified.

Will ignored her and instead put on a high-pitched, breathy voice in a poor imitation of hers. He bent low over the desk and held his hand in a near fist, as if holding a quill. "Dear Ron, I love you so much. Let's go and be perfect together and live in a world where people only drink one Firewhisky and come in to work early," he said, raising his eyebrows at her.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Gosh," she said loftily. "You really have a way of insulting people, Will," she said sarcastically, though she was biting down a smile.

"I'm right though, aren't I?" he said, a smug look on his face. "You were writing to him. And you know how I know that?" he asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes again. "Because you read what I'm writing?" she tried.

Will shook his head, clearly enjoying this, "Nope," he said, even though they both knew that that was part of the reason, and Will didn't want to admit it.

Hermione shook her head, sick of his game. "Do tell me Will. I'm absolutely dying to know," she said dryly.

"Because he's written you back already. Look," he said happily, pointing at a spot right above her shoulder, where a paper airplane was drifting in midair, waiting to be read. "No one writes back that fast. Not about work, at least," Will sniggered. Hermione ignored him, taking the note, and reading it, aware that Will was trying to read what it said through the parchment. It was written in an even messier scrawl than usual, as if he had been racing to write back. He hadn't even written anything at the top.

_I got in at about three in the morning. And about the bed, we can make it smaller if you'd like. I wouldn't mind. Though of course that would mean that you'd practically have to sleep on top of me…_

_Ron_

Hermione felt herself blush scarlet while Will snorted with laughter. Hermione looked up and glared at him. She took the quill from her desk and took out another piece of paper, though she only wrote five words on it.

_I think that sounds nice._

She folded it up quickly before Will could read it and sent it off. Will was looking curiously at her, though she shook her head and threw her quill at him.

"Start working, will you?" she told him, giving Will a reproachful look. "And I won't even be here this afternoon to tell you to get things done because I have to go to a meeting."

"You mean no one will be here to nag me?" Will asked hopefully, which earned him another thrown quill from Hermione's direction. She had no chance to respond, because another airplane had flown in, distracting her.

_Cheers, Hermione, now I can't concentrate at all. I'm going to go around all day thinking of you in a bed. In _our_ bed. Doesn't that sound great? Or just thinking of you. Not that I mind, of course. I mean, I pretty much spend every day like that. By the way, have I mentioned that I love you? _

_Ron_

It was a short note, but Hermione read it over and over again. She wanted to scream or shout or read the note aloud. Anything to release some of what she was feeling. She wrestled with the insane urge to read it to Will. But she couldn't (he'd probably read it already, anyway) so she pulled out another piece of stationary and wrote back.

_You know what? I don't think you have. Not today at least. But you might have mentioned it once or twice, I can't quite remember…_

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

She sent the letter zooming off, watching as the airplane whipped around the corner with a few other memos. Will was still not working. He had tipped his chair back and was watching her with a grin on his face. She pointedly turned the page in her book, and pretended to read, hoping he wouldn't start again.

"Dear Ron," Will said in that same dismal imitation of her voice, miming writing again. "We're too perfect to be here. Let's go home to our flat that's papered with awards from all the amazing things we've done and shag each other senseless," he said.

Hermione tried to ignore the tingling sensation in her toes; even though Will was making fun of her, the idea of it sounded tempting. "That's childish and I'm ignoring you," she told Will without looking up from the page.

"Dear Ron," Will tried again, his voice even higher than it had been before. "Let's make beautiful ginger babies who are great Quidditch players and talk as though they've been fed encyclopedias," he said, shaking with laughter.

Hermione looked up from her book, her eyes narrowed with disdain. "Has anyone ever told you that your maturity level is woefully below your actual age?" she asked him with as much scorn as she could muster. She opened her mouth to add something else, but Will cut her off.

"Ah, and here he is, right one cue. You have another memo, Hermione," Will said, his grin maddeningly smug.

Hermione whipped around and read it, anything to distract her from Will's teasing. Though she knew Ron's notes were not going to be any help.

_What? Well, that won't do at all. I'll have to tell you now. This very minute. But it just doesn't look the same on paper, you know. Meet me in that room off the Atrium? And tell Will to piss off from me, because I know he's making fun of you right now._

_Ron_

_PS – I love you. I couldn't wait._

Hermione wondered if her face was actually emitting heat. She hastily scratched a note out on the bottom of his memo, because she didn't want to take the time searching in her drawer for another piece of stationary.

_You are such a bad influence. I'm supposed to be working right now! I have a really important meeting in about six hours, you know!_

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

_PS – I'll meet you there in ten minutes._

She sent the airplane out of the office, then turned back to Will, who was now doodling on the corner of a memo that had been sent to him by a Department head. She and Ron had frequented a spare supply room which was rarely used. Apparently, someone in Ron's department had told him about it, it was the "getting off room" according to him, and by word of mouth no one went in there because of its reputation. Hermione didn't much like the name, but if it was safe to use, she didn't mind. It had come in handy over the last few weeks as well. The Quidditch season had started, which meant that Ron spent a lot of nights out, and therefore meant that the two spent a lot of mornings "making up for lost time" in the supply closet, as Ron un-poetically put it.

"Ron says 'piss off' by the way," Hermione said, turning back to her book.

Will looked up. "Well, that's not a very nice way of asking how I am, is it? You ought to teach him some – blimey, the man's anxious! Hermione, look, you've got another memo already," Will said, his eyes wide.

Hermione turned around in confusion; how could he have possibly written back, there hadn't been enough time? She unfolded the letter and read it, comprehension dawning at once.

_Hermione – _

_Will you stop it! Ron and I are supposed to be studying for our next exam, and it's hard to test someone on ways of concealment when that someone is spending half his time writing to you, and the other half waiting for you to write back!_

_Harry_

Hermione bit her lip guiltily. She dipped her quill into her inkwell and wrote a response on the back of his letter.

_Harry – _

_Sorry about that. I won't write back, I promise. Tell Ron not to send me any more memos, take his quill away or something, and tell him from me that he has to study!_

_Hermione_

She sent Harry's letter back to him, then turned back to her desk, fully intending to read through her notes. She had been right; Ron really _was_ a bad influence. She had a meeting in less than six hours, and she had just made plans to meet Ron in a supply closet! Hopefully, Harry would read Ron the memo and Ron wouldn't go to the closet, but she doubted it.

"Miss Granger," said a voice above her head, and Hermione looked up so fast, she cricked her neck. Rubbing it and wincing, she turned to face her boss. Madame Houghton was a strict woman who reminded Hermione very strongly of Professor McGonagall. Madame Houghton had taken to Hermione almost at once, though Hermione was still extremely nervous around her. Will liked to do impressions of it whenever he could.

"Madame Houghton," Hermione said, and for some reason she jumped to her feet, the book falling noisily off her desk and landing painfully on her left foot. She could hear Will laughing, though she blocked it out. What if her boss found out she had been sending notes to Ron? Completely non work-related notes.

Madame Houghton seemed to be a bit taken aback by Hermione's jumpiness, though she said nothing. "I was just on my way to my office. Do you have the notes I asked for?" she asked, looking down at Hermione through her heavily-framed glasses.

Hermione took the stack of notes off her desk. "Of course I do. I did some extra work on past dragon regulation laws as well, because I thought it might be more helpful for today," she said, handing Madame Houghton the stack of notes she had finished that morning. She watched anxiously as the older woman in front of her flipped through them, then looked up at her. There was a faint suggestion of pride and pleasure on her lines face. It gave Hermione the familiar feeling of accomplishment.

"Well done, these are far more detailed than I could have even hoped for," she said, giving Hermione a very, very rare smile. "Though of course, coming from you I suppose it's to be expected. Thank you for the notes and I'll be sure to remember your hard work, Miss Granger," she said, and Hermione felt herself blush with happiness. It was moments like these that made all of her early mornings and late nights seem worthwhile.

She watched as Madame Houghton returned to her office, her head slightly bent as she read through Hermione's notes more thoroughly. Hermione picked her book up and sat back down. Will was looking at her, though it was hard to read his expression; it was somewhere between amusement and jealousy.

"You have another memo," he said flatly, and then he returned to drawing pictures of Quaffles and Snitches. Hermione opened her mouth to say something to him, though her mind was admittedly blank. She thought that now would not be a good time to tell him that if he only worked harder, he might get the same recognition. Instead, she busied herself with the memo that had just flown into the department door. It was from Harry, and was written on the same piece of stationary that his original note had been written on. It had only nine words, though Hermione could almost sense that they had been written in discomfort.

_Er, Ron says he'll see you in five minutes._

Hermione stared down at the note, unsure of what to do. It would be hard writing to Ron and telling him not to go to the supply room, especially not when she wanted to go herself. Instead, she crushed the note into a ball and put it in the rubbish bin on her desk. She could feel Will's eyes on her as she turned back to her desk and opened her book to the proper page and began reading again.

"Dear Ron," Will said, sitting up fully in his chair and fixing her with a stare. The thought of teasing her some more had rekindled the fire that had died out when Madame Houghton had ignored him.

Hermione flipped the page of her book with more force than was necessary. "Don't start it again," she advised him, her eyes still on the book, but Will took no notice of her warning.

"Dear Ron," he repeated, his voice cracking as he forced it to go higher, his hand flying back and forth across the desk as he feigned writing a letter, "Let's celebrate me being annoyingly brilliant by making love under the stars and sipping champagne. And in between doing it we can have it in turns reciting every brilliant thing we've accomplished. Because every time we remember something fantastic that we've done it's a huge turn on. And then we can…"

"Dear Ron," Hermione said loudly so that her voice drowned out Will's, hating herself for stooping to his level. "I don't know _why_ I sit here every day and listen to Will bang on about how jealous he is, though he portrays it in a very immature way. I never thought I'd say this, but I think you could teach him tact. The next time you two go out, maybe in between him downing Firewhiskies you could tell him how a twenty-three year old _man_ should act," she said.

Will was silent, and Hermione wondered if she had gone too far. It had been a bit much saying he was jealous. It was the truth, though she didn't know that it would sound so harsh out loud. There was an uncomfortable tension between the two of them, and Hermione almost wished that Will would make another inappropriate joke about her and Ron. When he said nothing, she went back to reading, though her mind wasn't fully on it. She glanced up at Will, who looked miserable and ashamed of himself. Hermione felt her heart sink.

"Look," she started to say, but Will interrupted her.

"Don't worry about it," Will muttered, his eyes cast down at his desk.

"No," Hermione said firmly. "I shouldn't have said those things. I'm sorry," she said, feeling her cheeks grow warm in embarrassment.

"It's fine," Will said, still not looking at her.

"You're still mad at me though," she pressed on.

Will rolled his eyes. "Let it go, Hermione. It's fine, okay?" he said, turning his quill in his fingers. "I guess I went a bit too far as well."

Hermione bit her lip, not completely content with this, but she knew there was nothing she could do or say now. She wished she hadn't said anything at all. She wondered how it had ended up with her being the one to apologize and feel guilty.

A few minutes passed between them. Hermione found herself look down at her watch more times than she looked at her book. Even if she wanted to read, she couldn't. She was waiting for Will to do something. Waiting for him to say something, some indication that she hadn't actually hurt him.

"Dear Ron," he said softly, and she rolled her eyes and laughed in spite of herself. Everything was fine; he had let her comment bounce off of him. Though he seemed to have learned his lesson; he did not press on.

After a few minutes she closed the book and got up, stretching and rubbing her neck from where she had hurt it. Will glanced up, the blank piece of parchment now a full drawing of a Quidditch match, complete with crowded stands. From what Hermione could tell, he had been drawing the match from last night, though in his version the Cannons were up by three thousand points, there were no missing players, and the other team all wore curiously vacant and stupid expressions.

"Where are you going?" Will asked her unnecessarily, because he already knew.

"Bathroom," she said shortly, not looking him in the eye.

Will grinned evilly. "Give Ron a big hello from me," he called after her. Nothing had changed. Hermione turned around and opened her mouth to speak, though she thought better of it and walked away.

She waited for the lift impatiently, tapping her foot on the dark wood of the corridor as she waited for it to come. When the gilded doors finally appeared, she practically flung herself through the open doors and walked straight into…Mr. Weasley.

"Oh!" she said in surprise, feeling slightly disconcerted. She felt her cheeks turn red again, and she took a step back, looking down at the ground as if she had already done something wrong. She wondered if she should sacrifice her time and wait for another lift, but the doors had already closed.

Mr. Weasley looked up from his newspaper and saw Hermione standing in front of him. Grinning broadly, he folded his paper and put it under his arm. "Hermione! How are you?" he asked happily.

Hermione continued to look at the ground, unable to look him in the eyes, which were the same color as Ron's. "I'm…I'm fine, how are you?" she asked in a very small voice. She wished there was someone else in the elevator besides the two of them.

"Just wonderful! It's been a long week, though, I'll be glad when the day is over," Mr. Weasley said, oblivious to her discomfort.

Hermione laughed quietly, hoping that he would go back to reading his newspaper. If they continued to have a conversation, Hermione was scared she might lose her mind completely and say: "I'm actually going to a closet off of the Atrium and I'm going to tear the clothes off your son, is that okay with you?" She was reminded of the occasion where the two of them had been in the elevator before, and she had confessed that she and Ron slept in the same bed. They seemed to make a habit of it, being alone in a lift during intensely embarrassing instances. Though, of course, right now Mr. Weasley was blissfully ignorant. Hermione bit her lip, hoping to keep him that way.

The doors to the lift opened and someone raced in, going so fast they bounced off the back wall of the lift before coming to a stop. Hermione turned around and saw, to her horror, that it was Ron. The lift doors creaked shut, now enclosing the three of them. Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, wondering if this could get any worse.

Ron stared at the two of them, his eyes wide and his mouth open. Mr. Weasley turned to his youngest son, his grin wider. "Ron, what a surprise! How are you, son?"

Ron opened and closed his mouth wordlessly before faintly managing a "Fine." Hermione looked up and their eyes connected. She knew they were both thinking the same thing. Mr. Weasley attempted a conversation with Ron, which was proving difficult, as Ron was temporarily speechless.

The air in the lift grew increasingly thicker, though Hermione thought Mr. Weasley might not have noticed anything, for he was whistling cheerfully. The two of them were now horribly stuck between Ron's father. Every word of their written conversation now rang in her ears. She dug her fingernails into her arms, because she had planned on throwing herself at Ron the moment she saw him. She chanced a glance sideways at Ron, who was looking extremely uncomfortable, and was showing similar signs of restraint; he had his hands clasped around the back of his neck, and his ears were a flaming shade of red.

The lift stopped on the third floor. Hermione all but shouted, "Well, that's me!" as a detached woman's voice calmly recited "Level Three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, as well as the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters, and…" but Hermione rushed out before the woman had finished talking or before lift's doors had fully opened and disappeared around a corner. She walked down the corridor and waited a few minutes before taking another lift – this one thankfully full of people she did not know – and finally entering at the Atrium.

She walked across the large room with her head down. Although she and Ron had had these clandestine meetings a few times, she still couldn't shake the feeling that people in the Atrium were watching her. It was as if they knew what she was doing and where she was going. She knew that it was a complete fabrication of her imagination; how could anyone possibly know? Ron told her that it was just an overactive guilty conscience, the price for following the rules and being too good all the time.

When she reached their closet, Ron was already there. He was leaning against the back wall, which was covered with empty shelves. His arms were crossed and he had a grin on his face.

"I didn't know you worked for the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes," he said in an amused voice. Hermione let out a pent-up breath and shook her head.

"That," she said, taking a step closer to him, "was honestly the most embarrassing and uncomfortable thing that has happened to me in a very long time. Do you think your dad knows?" she asked.

Ron shrugged unconcernedly. "I don't think so, but I don't think he'd say anything if he did. Mind you, you were a _bit_ obvious," he said kindly, and his eyes glinted even in the darkened closet. "When you got out he asked me when you started doing work with the Obliviators. Don't worry, I made something up. It was actually quite convincing," he said quickly, answering her question before she had asked it.

It was very quiet in their closet for a few minutes. Hermione knew they were both remembering the uncomfortable lift ride. Then, Ron took a step closer to her, and kissed her softly on the lips. Her fingers, which were still digging into her arms, relinquished their grip and made their way through Ron's hair. He moaned softly, and took another step closer to her. They parted for a moment as Ron pulled her shirt off and threw it aside, then came together again, the passion making them bump noses in eagerness. Hermione thought she heard Ron laugh softly.

She broke away a few minutes later, shivering in the closet. Their clothes pooled around them, only dark masses in the dim light. "Didn't you have something you wanted to say?" she asked, running her fingers up his arms as his held her bare back.

Ron pulled her close, so that her chin grazed his chest. His lips were close to her ear, and he whispered in a gravelly sort of voice, "I love you," before lifting her up effortlessly and kissing her neck. She felt a shiver of happiness go down her spine.

It seemed strange that beyond this door there were people moving around, thousands of people, hurrying to and from their desks or meetings or appointments. It was strange that a few minutes ago, Hermione had been one of them. But now she was here, with Ron, in an entirely different time, in an entirely different place.

…

_Author's Note: Wow, my first _really_ long chapter in a while. Nearly 8,000 words! I missed Will, so I brought him back. I didn't know how to end it, so I ended it that way, but I'm still not sure if I like it…Anyway, please review if you can! And if you have any suggestions of things you'd like me to write about, please tell me, because I am totally open to ideas : )_

**Also: My charity Hearts for Hope is up for nomination for grant money. Hearts for Hope is a nonprofit organization I started to help the children on the Cardiology wing at Children's Hospital, Boston; a place I spent a bit of time at as a baby. To receive the grant money I have to be in the top ten for number of votes. Please go to .com/heartsforhope to vote. You can vote all throughout the month of July. If you have any questions, feel free to send me a PM, or visit the website, which has more information. It would mean **_**so**_** much to me, thank you!**


	33. New Years Eve

_Author's Note: Sorry for the slight wait in this chapter; it's hard to post when I don't have internet! This was actually supposed to be chapter 34, but I cut out the other chapter 33 in regard to the requests to take their relationship to a more serious level. I hope you all enjoy it…it's another long one!_

Chapter Thirty-Three –

"Hermione, I swear if you don't get out of there and finish we're going to be late and my mum will kill me," Ron called through the bathroom door for the third time in five minutes.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "And _I_ swear," she called back, "If you bang on that door one more time, _I'll_ kill you," she shouted, redirecting her attention at the mirror, where she had been carefully straightening her hair for the last half hour. She had done it a few times before, though she had forgotten how long it had taken on those rare occasions. Hence, they were now nearly late for the New Years Eve Party. But she had to finish; she couldn't go with half of her hair straight and the other side looking as it always did.

"So basically," Ron shouted back, "It's down to how I'd like to be killed?" he asked seriously, as though he was considering both options. Hermione thought he probably was.

Hermione bit her lip to keep from smiling. She knew if she smiled, he would be able to tell, and then it would be no use, because then he would know – just from the sound of her voice and the sound of a smile – that she wasn't angry. "Yes, that's right," she called back, taking another stand of curled hair. She heard him walk away, the floorboards behind the bathroom door creaking slightly. She smiled to herself and picked up another piece of hair. She was almost done now, and her arms ached from being held above her head for so long.

"Hermione," Ron called back, though this time he did not pound at the door.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "_What_, Ron? I'll be out in two minutes, can you wait?"

Ron seemed to think for a minute. "Actually, I can't. And I can't decide which way I'd like to go, because the options of you or my mum are both pretty grim," he said, and she could hear his voice shaking with laughter.

She finished with her hair and took a step back to appreciate the effect. She set the bottle of hair potion carefully on the counter, though by now she had ridden the glass jar of most of its contents. It might have been worth it if it didn't take so long to do. With her great amount of hair tamed, she could see her face a bit better, and it did not look as though she was being swallowed by a mass of long brown curls. She turned and opened the door and walked straight into Ron.

"Wow, you look _great_," he said, his eyes wide as they traveled over her body. She felt a tiny shiver of self-consciousness as she ran a hand uncertainly through her hair.

"Do you like it?" she asked cautiously, noting that there was a lot less hair to run through her fingers now. Ron nodded.

"I mean, I love your hair, no matter what you do to it, but it looks nice like this," Ron said, his ears turning red. She looked at him and noticed that all he had on was a towel wrapped around his waist.

"_Ron_!" she said sharply, crossing her arms over her dressing gown and glaring up at him. "You're not ready either!" she exclaimed, and he had the grace to look ashamed.

"Sorry, I had to listen to the end of the match," Ron said quickly, and she could hear a radio playing faintly in the background. She rolled her eyes and sidestepped him into the bedroom, where she had her clothes neatly laid out. On Ron's side of the bed, there were heaps of robes and clothes, all mixed together in untidy piles on the floor.

"Well," she said as he followed her into the bedroom, "It shouldn't be that hard to find something. It looks like you only have a few clean things anyway," she said, eying the dirty piles of clothes with a slightly wrinkled nose. Ron looked at his messy side of the bedroom, and the red of his ears crept to his cheeks.

"I'll clean up when we get back," Ron said unconcernedly, now occupying the vacant bathroom. Hermione could hear him singing slightly out of tune as he shaved. She grinned to herself, warmth passing over her entire body.

She slipped her dress over her head, enjoying the fact that her hair wouldn't get caught or explode with electricity. It was nice, the way it fell smoothly over her shoulders. Kind of like Ginny's hair. Or Fleur's even.

Ten minutes later, and very, very nearly late, they arrived at the Burrow, both dressed though slightly out of breath. They were not that last to arrive to the party, though there were already several people to crowd them. Mrs. Weasley was first, of course, kissing them both and exclaiming over Hermione's hair, and how Ron had managed to match his socks for once. Then they were surrounded by Mr. Weasley, Bill, Fleur, Percy, Audrey, Andromeda, Victoire, and Teddy.

"So we're not the last ones here, then?" Ron asked his mother, who was already in the kitchen, overseeing the poultry as it turned itself over in the oven.

Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "No, Harry and Ginny aren't here yet, neither is George," she called distractedly over her shoulder.

"Nah, I'm here," called George, entering through the back door and shaking snow out of his hair. He pushed it back out of his face, though with only one ear to hold it back it flopped lopsidedly back into his eyes. Then he pulled in someone with him. Angelina Johnson. Mrs. Weasley practically shouted with excitement, clapping her hands with joy at the unexpected guest. From the oven, with her wand now pointed at the ceiling as she clapped, Mrs. Weasley's chickens began to bounce around and create copious amounts of smoke, which Mrs. Weasley didn't seem to notice. Angelina looked slightly embarrassed; as if she wasn't sure she should be here. Ron shuffled his feet from behind Hermione. She knew that Ron was still a bit afraid of Angelina after his patchy record on her team. Hermione doubted that Angelina would keep a grudge for that long, but there was no way to tell Ron this in the crowded and loud kitchen.

Hermione watched as Angelina said hello to everyone she knew and was introduced to those she did not know, her face held its smile even though she looked slightly overwhelmed. Hermione rather thought that George reached down and grabbed her hand, but when she turned to look properly, George's hands were deep in his pockets.

Angelina finally reached Hermione and Ron, who had both moved into the living room as the kitchen had become hot and crowded. She smiled at them both, and then took an armchair near them. George followed her within seconds, dropping down into an armchair opposite hers and grinning at Ron and Hermione.

"So, you two," he said, tilting his head back to look at them through strands of long ginger hair. "How's paradise for our two young lovers?" he asked dramatically. Ron's ears turned a bright shade of red that Hermione could almost feel sitting next to him.

"And how are you, George?" Hermione asked pointedly, purposely ignoring his question. She looked at Angelina, as if she would confirm something, that George's hand in hers hadn't been Hermione's imagination.

"Fine," George said loftily, attempting to shake his hair out of his face again.

"How's the shop going?" Hermione asked, feeling as though Ron was completely failing her; he kept on shooting Angelina furtive looks, as though he expected her to burst out into a pep talk right in the middle of the living room.

"Business is booming," George said in a bored sort of voice. He pretended to examine the fingernails on his left hand while shooting Ron – who had been uncharacteristically silent – a covert look. Ron was still looking apprehensively at Angelina. When he saw what his brother was doing, he sat up straight and rolled his eyes at Ron. Hermione was secretly thankful for how well George knew his younger brother. "Oh for God's sake Ron, Angelina doesn't hate you. Can you stop moping now and indulge in a civilized conversation held amongst people?"

Ron shot up, a mixture of guilt and surprise on his face. "W-what?" he said, his voice shaking a little. Angelina, understanding what was going on, laughed softly, though she tried to pass it off as a cough.

George shook his head, though Hermione thought he was rather enjoying this. "Angelina doesn't care that you can't play Quidditch," he said slowly, as if explaining this to a child. "It was about five years ago Ron," he said, a grin barely concealed.

Ron looked hesitantly at Angelina, who confirmed this with a nod, and Ron let out an almost audible sigh of relief. George shook with laughter, before Ron turned on him.

"Oi!" he said, his ears turning red again. "What's that supposed to mean, 'I can't play Quidditch?'" he repeated, rounding in his seat to face George.

Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Ron, there's about six hours until the New Year. Do you think we could round this one off without getting into a fight with anyone?" she asked from behind her hands, making her voice sound a bit muffled.

George grinned appreciatively at her. "I couldn't agree more," he said, standing up and looking in the direction of the kitchen. "I'm getting some food, do you want to come Angelina?" he asked, and she nodded, standing up as well. On his way past, George patted Ron on the shoulder and muttered, "No hard feelings little bro, okay?" before disappearing into the kitchen.

Ron stared after his brother, his mouth slightly open. Hermione watched him go too, then watched as Angelina followed him.

"Are they together, do you think?" she asked before she could stop herself.

Ron shrugged, "Probably. They work together, so they'd be alone in the shop all day," he said, looking after her brother. "It would be a little weird though," he said slowly, as though he were choosing his words very carefully.

"How so?" Hermione asked curiously, though she regretted asking it the moment the words had left her mouth. Fred. Of course.

"Well, Angelina and Fred…" but Ron broke off, his eyes widening as his hands twisted in his lap. He hardly ever mentioned Fred, except when something hit him to remind him of his older brother. Hermione looked down and covered his hands with hers. He looked down as well, then smiled up at her, though his eyes were still a little blank.

Hermione didn't have time to say anything; the door banged open again and Ginny walked in, her face set as she entered without Harry. Hermione stood up and Ron followed. It was strange to see the two of them apart; and Hermione automatically knew that something was wrong. She watched as Ginny's eyes combed through the crowd of family members as she looked for Hermione. Hermione held up a hand and Ginny's eyes lit with recognition. She made her way through the crowd of people, sidestepping Fleur and giving Percy an airy hello. As she walked through the kitchen, Harry came in after her, looking as though he had been chased here; his hair was on end and his face was extremely pale.

Ginny walked quickly up to Hermione, her face still set and unreadable. "I need to talk to you," she said, her voice flat. And before Hermione could say anything, Ginny was walking past her and up the stairs. Hermione thought she must be going to her old bedroom. She turned to Ron to see what he thought of what had just happened. Ron looked thoroughly confused; his eyes flickering from where Ginny had just stood to where Harry was standing, his expression still miserable and downcast.

"I think she wants you to follow her," Ron said slowly, his eyes narrowing as he watched Harry being hugged by Mrs. Weasley. Hermione bit back a sarcastic comment; that it was obvious Ginny wanted her to follow.

"Do you think they've had a fight?" Hermione asked instead, her voice anxious. This was not how she planned on spending New Year Eve, though she supposed she and Ron owed the pair of them for all the years they had spent patching up the relationship between her and Ron.

Ron shook his head. "I have no idea. I'll go talk to Harry. You find Ginny before she does something," Ron said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before winding his way back into the kitchen.

Hermione climbed the stairs to the second landing, where Ginny's bedroom, and what she had come to know as her bedroom for the summer holidays, stood. It felt strange, being the one who helped put everything back together while someone else broke it apart. For such a long time, it had been her and Ron who broke everything.

Ginny's door was shut, though she could hear movement beyond it. Feeling that it would be prudent to take caution when Ginny was in such an unsettled state, Hermione knocked twice and waited. The sound stopped and Hermione could hear footsteps near the door.

"Hermione? That's you, right?" came Ginny's anxious whisper.

Hermione nodded, and then instantly felt stupid. "Yes, it's me," she said quickly, and she heard the lock click. When the door did not open, Hermione took that she was supposed to let herself in. She opened the door carefully, as if preparing for an attack, but Ginny did nothing. In fact, she was pacing back and forth up and down her bedroom, her hands twisting in front of her, her hair whipping wildly from side to side as she walked.

Hermione stood on the threshold, wondering how to start a conversation. She shut the door behind her for something to do, then sat down on Ginny's bed, watching her pace back and forth. Hermione had learned that with Ginny, like with Ron, the best thing to do was to wait for the other person to speak first. If she started with questions, Ginny would get flustered and annoyed. She had to give Ginny time.

Ginny paced back and forth, wringing her hands so that her knuckles were turning white. Hermione watched as she paced. She had a million questions on the tip of her tongue, she was dying to ask them, but she held her silence. And then, finally, Ginny spoke.

"I was late," she said softly, so quietly that Hermione almost missed it.

Hermione looked up at her. "Only by about five minutes," she said, "I don't think your mum really minded," she added cheerfully.

Ginny stopped pacing and stared at Hermione, giving her a how_-could-you-be-so-dense_ look, which took Hermione by surprise, because usually _she_ was the one who gave out those looks. To Ron, most of the time.

"No, Hermione," Ginny said, her voice shaking. "I was _late_," she said, her voice a horrified whisper.

Hermione couldn't help it; she gasped as realization finally hit her. She knew that this wasn't the response that she ought to have given, though she could not help but to react on instinct. She clasped her hands to her mouth, her brain blank for comforting things to say.

"Oh," she finally managed to get out. _Brilliant,_ she thought to herself. _I'm sure that's _exactly_ what Ginny needed._ "How – how late?" she asked, forcing her voice to be calm and even.

Ginny looked as though she wanted to start pacing again, but her feet seemed to be rooted to the ground. "A week," she said softly. "But then I – I got it," she added, not looking Hermione in the eye. They had never had a conversation this intensely personal before. They were in a new territory now, and it was unsettling and uncomfortable for both of them. Over the years they had created a fragile web, a bond of friendship strengthened by the fact that neither girl had anyone else.

"Oh," Hermione said again, and a wave of what she thought might be relief washed over her. Ginny decided against pacing and instead crossed the room and sat down hard on the bed. "So you're not…" Hermione started.

"No," Ginny said, looking down at her hands.

"When did…this…happen?" Hermione asked, her voice shaking now.

Ginny looked at the opposite wall, her eyes on the darkened window and the landscape beyond it. "The first week in December," she whispered. And Hermione's heart sank; she had been carrying this around with her, this burden, for an entire month.

"Oh," Hermione said again, hating herself even more. She was a terrible friend. Perhaps this was why she had always had so few of them. She really was an awful confidant. She cleared her throat. "Did you tell…I mean, does Harry know?" she asked softly. She wanted to reach out and touch Ginny's hand, but she didn't want Ginny to back away or get angry.

Ginny shook her head. And then, words began to pour out, and Hermione understood that she had kept them in for so long, waiting for the moment to tell her. "No, I didn't want to. You know Harry, he's so responsible and everything, he'd propose on the spot without even thinking about it. But then that got me thinking about it. I mean, I'm only eighteen; I couldn't get _married_ or anything like that. I couldn't have a family or have a baby or start anything like that. And then I realized how serious everything is becoming and I don't _want_ that. And I got lucky that I was just late, and it wasn't the real thing. But that's not how it was supposed to turn out," she said quickly, as if she was afraid she would not have time to say it all.

"How were things supposed to turn out?" Hermione said, feeling slightly better as her role of best friend. At least she had stopped saying "Oh."

Ginny shrugged miserably. "I don't know, that's the problem too, I guess. Well, I know that mum and dad got married when they were seventeen, and all my life I knew I didn't want to be like that. I told myself I didn't want to get married until I was at least thirty. I couldn't imagine doing what mum did. Obviously it worked for her, but I never thought it would work for me. And then _this_ happened, and I realized that it might happen to me, even if I didn't want it."

"So you don't want…that happening to you? I mean, what almost happened to you?" Hermione asked slowly, trying to wade through Ginny's confused emotions.

Ginny buried her face in her hands. Hermione was scared she might cry; Ginny rarely cried. "I don't know," she said in a muffled voice. "I love Harry, I _do_. I want to be with him forever, but forever was always in the distance, you know? And this just made me realize that everything is going so fast, and I can't stop it. Even if I tried I couldn't stop it," she said, her voice rising and falling.

"What do you mean, 'you can't stop it'?" Hermione asked evenly, sitting on her hands so that she wouldn't throw her arms around Ginny.

Ginny lifted her face from her hands; her eyes were dry. "I mean, you can't go back in a relationship; once you've gone forward you can't go back. You can move, or you can stop. I didn't tell Harry because then we'd move, and I wouldn't get to go back."

Hermione nodded, slowly understanding. "You mean he'd ask you to marry him, and you'd say no, putting you in a place where you couldn't move?" she asked, still slightly confused.

Ginny thought for a moment. "Yes, I suppose. But the worst part is that when I thought about it, when I considered it, a part of me wanted to say yes."

"You mean if he hypothetically proposed?" Hermione said, trying to make this conversation as rational as possible. She had a feeling she was on to a losing battle.

Ginny nodded. "Because I do love him, I really, really do. And I would say yes in a few years, but not now when we're so young and we still have so much time," she said. Hermione was confused. Harry hadn't actually proposed, but the idea of a situation that had almost happened, a situation where Harry would have definitely proposed, had turned Ginny inward where she began to analyze everything. One week, and Ginny's whole world had been tipped upside down. Hermione thought hard; she was good with facts and solid information, but with everything in rhetoric right now, she was at a loss of what to say.

"But Ginny," Hermione said, hoping to bring the conversation back to factual reality, a place where she felt comfortable. "Harry never proposed, did he? What could have happened…well, it _didn't_ happen," she asked.

"No, but I keep on thinking about if it was actually happening. I could be getting married right now, and that's not what I want," she said miserably. "And now I can't go back to how I was before, because all I can think of what could have happened."

Hermione nodded, wondering if she was ever going to fully understand. "So, what do you want?" she asked.

Ginny stopped; Hermione thought she had stopped breathing for a moment. She realized that no one had asked Ginny this, that Ginny had never even asked herself this question. She thought, chewing on her bottom lip and twirling a strand of red hair around in her fingers.

"I want," she said slowly, "For things to go back a few months, when I didn't have to think about any of these things. When I didn't have to look at Harry and wonder what he'll look like in thirty years, and if we'll be married, and if we'll have kids, and if so how many. It was mad; last week I was making the bed, and I realized that I sleep on the right, and I just thought: what if I want to sleep on the left? What if life now is what life is going to be? What if this is it? I want to go back to a place where responsibility wasn't right there. I want to move backwards, but I can't do that, can I?" Ginny said sadly.

"No, apparently not," Hermione muttered, looking down at her hands as she spoke. "So, what are you going to do?"

Ginny shook her head. "Well, I can't go on doing what I've been doing. I haven't been able to look Harry in the face for weeks, so I've just been avoiding him, so we've just been miserable together. I can't carry on with that, letting him think that he's somehow done something wrong. I just want to go _back_!" she cried savagely, burying her face in her hands once more. She breathed deeply for a few minutes before seemingly steadying herself and looking at Hermione. "Do you know what I have to do then?" she asked in a hollow sort of voice.

Hermione's heart sped up; Ginny's expression was usually accompanied by something extremely sinister, like announcing she was going to jump from the roof. "I have to end it, for now," she said softly, her voice breaking. Hermione felt tears well up in her own eyes, and she hated herself for not being as brave.

"_Why_, Ginny?" she asked softly, and she slowly put her hand on top of Ginny's, who did not move away.

Ginny sniffed, and Hermione thought she might be crying, but her face was covered by her hair. "Because I can't stop thinking about what might have happened. I'm haunted by what life was almost," she whispered. "I need some time to think, to reevaluate some things. It all happened too quickly, and now I need to let myself catch up to it all."

Hermione squeezed Ginny's hand tighter. "You're going to break up with him?" she asked softly. She could not even begin to imagine what Ginny was going through, but to break up with Harry a few hours before the New Year?

Ginny nodded, though she seemed stronger. "Yes. I need to do it," she said, squeezing Hermione's hand back.

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "What if you don't have to?" she asked softly, and Ginny let go of her.

"What do you mean?" she asked quickly, and Hermione knew that Ginny was very close to getting angry; she thought Hermione was challenging her. She thought of her words carefully.

"What if you tell Harry everything?" Hermione asked. "What if you sit down with him and tell him what happened and how you feel. I'm sure he'll…"

"Understand?" Ginny interrupted her, laughing harshly. "Do you really think so, Hermione? You know Harry. He'll jump up and come up with about three dozen ways to fix this. And that's not a bad thing, really. Usually it's a very good thing. But I don't want to fix it. I just want _time_," Ginny said, pleading. She was begging Hermione to understand, to be on her side. Hermione looked at the girl sitting next to her, though suddenly Ginny wasn't a girl. She was much older than Hermione had ever seen.

Slowly, with Ginny's eyes on her, Hermione nodded. She did not agree with Ginny, though it was hard to say what she would have done in her position. She tried to picture herself in Ginny's shoes. What would she want? Would she want to get married? She tried to picture Ron's face if she told him something like that, and suddenly realized that she didn't want to imagine it right now. "Okay," she said softly. "Do you want me to tell Harry to come up here?" she asked, because it did not look as though Ginny wanted to go downstairs and face everyone.

Ginny smiled for the first time that night, her face beaming with thankfulness. "Yes, thank you," she breathed, and her eyes seemed unusually bright.

Hermione hugged Ginny, trying to put everything she could not put into words into that small amount of contact. She thought she might have done it; Ginny's breath seemed to hitch a little, though when they broke away, Ginny looked just as composed as ever. Hermione wondered how she could stay so together all the time.

Hermione left Ginny's room and walked down the stairs to the kitchen, her legs feeling curiously stiff and unwilling to move. She wondered if this was how an executioner's assistant felt. Never doing the actual act, but being guilty of it all the same. She shook the morbid thought out of her head. She was overreacting.

Harry and Ron were bent together in a corner, they bodies half hidden in shadows as they talked. Harry was gesticulating wildly, his face alive with anger and sadness. He looked more distraught that Hermione had seen him in a very long time. She made her way over to him, feeling her hands grow numb. It seemed almost cruel to her. She knew what was going to happen, and he did not.

"Hi," Harry said softly, eying Hermione. Ron looked up too; he was looking rather lost and trapped, she knew he felt uncomfortable.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Harry, Ginny's upstairs. She – she wants to talk to you," she said, and at the same time feeling as though this was a lie.

Harry nodded woodenly and crossed the room, his back curiously rigid as he walked up the stairs. Hermione turned to Ron. "So, what did he say?" she asked in a hurried whisper. Under no circumstances was she going to tell Ron what Ginny had just told her. She knew Ron would completely fly off the handle if she enlightened him to his younger sister's problem. She also knew that in Ron's naïve mind he was convinced that his younger sister and best friend sat at home every night holding hands on the sofa and never straying further than that; she was not going to be the one to disabuse him of this comfortable notion, no matter how far from reality it truly was. She thought that deep down, even Ron knew that there was more to their relationship, but it was more comfortable to _not_ imagine his sister and best friend in that way. Hermione could understand that. But she _did_ want to know what Harry had told Ron.

Ron bit his lip, looking at the staircase where Harry had just disappeared. Hermione wondered if they would begin to hear yelling soon. "He just said that he and Ginny have been going through a bit of a rough spell. He said she's not talking to him, and she keeps on avoiding him, but he doesn't know what to say, because everything he does is wrong," Ron recited carefully.

Hermione nodded sadly. "I just talked to Ginny. She's going to break up with him," she said, looking at her hands as she told him.

Ron gasped, and Fleur, who was sitting at a sofa near them, glanced around curiously. "Are you kidding?" he asked, lowering his voice dramatically, and Hermione shook her head. "What a bad way to start a new year," Ron said sympathetically, and Hermione made a low hum of agreement.

Ron looked up at her. "Did she say why she's been acting like that? And why she wants to suddenly end it?" he asked.

Hermione froze. This was where the creative lying came in. She was going to tell him the truth, but only part of it. She was doing it for his own protection, but it still didn't feel right in her mind. "She's been thinking of the future a lot lately," Hermione said slowly. "She's not sure what she wants, because on the one hand she doesn't want to be as serious as they are, and she wants to take her time, and on the other she knows that in the end, she'll love him forever, and she'll always want to be with him," Hermione finished, rather proud of what she said in spite of herself. It was practically not lying at all; everything she had said had been the truth, she had just not mentioned _what_ exactly had caused Ginny to think about the future. And as long as Ron didn't ask why Ginny had suddenly had such revelations, she would be safe.

Whether Ron was going to ask why or not she never knew, because seconds later Harry stormed down the stairs and rushed across the room, oblivious to all the stares he was attracting. He stopped short of Ron and Hermione, and then looked down at the glass in Ron's hands.

"What's that?" he asked aggressively, eyeing the mug.

"Er, butterbeer. Why?" Ron asked hesitantly.

Before Hermione could even get a word in, Harry snatched the glass from Ron's hand and downed the entire mug, slopping some onto his front in the process. Ron and Hermione watched him, dumbstruck.

Harry slammed the glass onto a nearby table and began eyeing Hermione. He looked quite demented, and Hermione almost took a step back in shock. She had never seen him so angry, so unchecked.

"Er, Harry?" Ron asked uncertainly, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hair.

"I hate women," Harry said savagely, taking an abandoned drink from the same table and downing that one too. "I hate them all," he said. He caught sight of Hermione. "No offence, of course. But you're all so damn temperamental and bloody hard to understand."

Hermione just stared. Ron weakly said, "That's not on, mate," but Harry didn't seem to be listening. He was contemplating the bottom of the glass of butterbeer he had just stolen from Ron as if seriously considering refilling the glass and drowning himself in it. When he looked up again, his face had lost all of the wild fury in it. Now he simply looked lost and helpless. He let the mug fall from his limp fingers, though the sound of broken glass could not be heard over the din of people. Hermione hastily cleaned up the shards of the mug. She was overcome with such an urge to embrace him and she flung herself into his arms, hugging him tightly. She wondered if it would do any good.

"I don't understand," Harry said softly, when she had let go of him and the three were huddled together again. Harry was looking miserably at his hands, looking neither of them in the eye. "Things were going so well, and then…" his voice trailed off.

"Did she tell you what she wanted to end it?" Ron asked, bowing his head so that Harry could hear him over the din of the sitting room. Hermione bit her lip to keep from answering for him.

Harry addressed his hands as he spoke. "She just said that one day the future hit her, and she needed to take some time to think things through. That she wasn't sure if everything was too fast or just right, but she needed time," he said brokenly.

"And what did _you_ say?" Hermione asked, and she found that she was whispering. For the first time, Harry looked the two of them in the eye.

"Well, first I got mad, because I couldn't see this coming at all. I mean, we've been a bit off, but I didn't think anything was really wrong. I thought…" Harry looked down at his hands again. "I thought we'd be okay, in the end," he muttered, so softly that Hermione too had to lean in to hear him.

"Maybe things will be okay in the end, mate," Ron said bracingly, patting Harry slightly awkwardly on the back.

Harry looked up, his eyes wide behind his glasses. "I don't know," he said miserably. "I told her I'd move out if she'd like, but I didn't think she'd….say yes," he said, his voice cracking, and Hermione had to read his lips to understand the last word.

"So what are you going to do from here?" Hermione asked, and she was unsurprised to hear that her voice had become somewhat higher. She was under such a strain to reveal Ginny's secret that she could feel the weight of the words pressing on her vocal chords. But she couldn't; it wasn't hers to tell.

Harry shrugged miserably. "When I was done being angry, I told her I loved her and I'd do anything for her. I said I'd wait, and when she was ready I'd be there," he said with a kind of sullen indifference.

Hermione let out a moan of sympathy and kissed Harry platonically on the cheek. Harry managed a fragile smile, which broke almost instantly and shattered, like the glass had done moments before. Ron shuffled his feet a little, and then clapped his friend on the back, trying to make eye contact with Harry, who was in turn refusing to look at him.

"I think I'll go find something to eat," Harry said, muttering an excuse and slipping away before Hermione could stop him, though admittedly, she did not know what she would have said. Instead, he left a wake of sadness upon the two of them, as they stood hunched in the corner, hidden in shadows.

"What do we do now?" Ron asked, his manner rather depressed from Harry's bad evening. Hermione bit her lip again, thinking.

"I think you should keep an eye on him," she said slowly, looking up at Ron. "I'll find Ginny, you make sure Harry's…" but she did not finish, for "alright" did not seem like the proper end; of course Harry wasn't alright. Ron nodded, kissing her gently on the lips before leaving to find Harry, his hand lingering on hers for a moment before he left her alone in the corner.

Hermione searched intently for Ginny among the sea of redheads; if Harry had come down, that meant that she had done as well, or would be coming down soon. At last, she found Ginny pressed against a far wall, talking to Audrey. Her eyes were downcast, and Hermione knew it was to hide the fact that they were puffy and bloodshot. She crossed the room and apologized to Audrey, making some incoherent excuse to steal Ginny away. As soon as the two girls were alone, Ginny hid her face in her hands.

"It didn't go well," Ginny said unnecessarily. Her eyes were very red and every angle of her being seemed to be pointing down at the floor. "I thought I'd feel alright after doing that, because it's what I need, but he took it terribly."

"Yes, he did," Hermione said softly, watching as Ron met up with Harry in the kitchen. She watched as he motioned for Harry to go outside, to take a walk with him, but Harry declined. "When he came down he told us what happened. He's not happy, but at least he's giving you time, right?" she said, struggling to find a silver lining she doubted even existed.

Ginny sniffed. "He hates me. At first he was angry but when he calmed down he got all noble, like I knew he would. He said he loved me and nothing changed that, and if I needed two weeks or twenty years, he'd wait. But I don't know if that can happen. I don't deserve it," she said, and she blinked rapidly as her eyes became very bright.

Hermione hugged Ginny, and this time she felt her shoulder grow wet as Ginny cried. This seemed to attract everyone's attention, and everyone rushed over to comfort Ginny, which meant that they two girls got separated in the sea of Weasleys. Hermione tried to fight to get back to Ginny, who Hermione was sure did not want all of the attention, but Mrs. Weasley was bigger than she was, and Hermione got cast to the outskirts of the group.

Hermione inched her way out of the packed living room and made her way to the kitchen, which was completely empty for the first time all night, except for Ron. Harry seemed to have slipped upstairs under the cover of all the attention on Ginny. Ron looked relieved to see her; he slumped against the cabinets as if he had just had a very long and trying day. He checked his watch as she drew nearer.

"It's about five minutes to midnight," he said, glancing up at her. Looking around the counter, he found an unopened bottle of champagne and held it out to her, his eyes flickering to the back door. "What do you reckon?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her and cocking his head maddeningly.

Hermione felt helpless, she wanted to help Ginny and Harry but she didn't know what to do at this point. Forcing them to talk to one another would be pointless. Ginny should have told Harry the whole truth all along, and there was nothing Hermione could do right now to make up for that mistake. She gave up and nodded, following Ron into the garden.

The last night of the year was clear and bright. The moon was a tiny crescent, like a sliver of something broken. Again, Hermione was reminded of the glass at Harry's feet before she had fixed it. Hermione drew nearer to Ron, shivering in the biting night air. Ron put his arm around her and held her close, trying to warm her up.

"I could go inside and get my jacket, if you'd like," Ron offered kindly, but Hermione shook her head. It was the suggestion that really mattered in the end.

They made their way over to a small rickety bench in the center of the snow covered garden. With his wand, Ron siphoned off all of the snow, and when they sat down, the bench was dry and warm, as though it might have been a spring afternoon.

"Three minutes left," Ron said aloud, checking his watch again.

"Who would have thought," Hermione said slowly. "That we'd be the ones getting on right now?" she asked, smiling slightly.

"Hermione," Ron said, putting his arm around her shoulders again. "I think everyone _but_ us knew. Two minutes left," he added, laughing.

Hermione laughed softly as well. "I guess you're right," she said quietly, moving a little closer to him and resting her head on his shoulder. There was something in the back of her mind, and she couldn't stop thinking about it.

Ron checked his watch, "One minute left," he announced. "Any final words?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's the New Year, we're not _dying_," she said exasperatedly, but she turned to him and smiled.

"Twenty seconds," Ron said quietly.

Hermione looked at his eyes. Those blue eyes that had challenged her from the moment she had met him, on the train. "I love you," she said.

Ron smiled slowly. "I love you too," he said, and he leaned in to kiss her. It was cut short but a piercing beep, and Ron looked down at his lap once again. "Happy New Year," he said in a deep sort of voice, popping open the bottle of champagne so that white foam carpeted the snow at their feet. He took a sip and then handed the bottle to her.

"You set an alarm!" she cried incredulously, but she laughed all the same. The champagne was wonderfully warm; some of her uneasiness edged away, and the questions in the back of her mind grew a little fuzzy. But they were still there, and Hermione knew they wouldn't go away. "I can't believe you set an alarm. That really ruins the moment, you know," she said, grinning and handing him the bottle.

"I didn't want to miss it," Ron said defensively, but Hermione threw her arms around his neck and gave him the first kiss of another year.

…

That night they were quiet as they got ready for bed. They had come in from the garden shivering from cold though feeling oddly warm from the champagne. No one seemed to have noticed their absence; they were all toasting the year while taking turns hugging a morose-looking Ginny. After the toasts, there had been a few last-minute rushed conversations, and then people had begun to depart from the Burrow. Hermione hurried over and hugged Ginny goodbye, saying that she would see her first thing in the morning to talk over a cup of tea.

She and Ron had been about to leave when they noticed Harry, slumped by the front steps. He looked incredibly small and lost, sitting with his back to the house, his knees drawn to his chest. She knew he sensed that they were in front of him, and he lifted his eyes balefully to look at the two of them. Hermione's heart ached for Harry, just watching him.

"I told I'd move out for a bit, but I don't know where I should go," he said. "I thought maybe Grimmuald Place, but I can't live there alone," he said softly, more to himself than anyone else.

Ron stooped over and helped Harry stand. Hermione wondered how long he had been out here. "You can stay with us," Ron told him, and Harry gave him a grateful smile, though he seemed incapable of words. And then the three of them had Apparated back to Ron and Hermione's flat.

Harry's presence had been odd; like a weight that only reminded Hermione of what Ginny had planted in her mind. As they got ready for bed, Hermione found herself unable to talk; her brain teeming with thoughts that she knew would not stay captive for very long.

She was wondering if she'd run away, like Ginny. Or if Ron would run away. She had seen him turn red at the mention of the word "wedding" or "baby" since Mrs. Weasley had first started mentioning it. But now she wondered if it wasn't out of embarrassment for his mother, but because he didn't want it. "It" that tiny word that encompassed so much, but above all meant a future. But what if she didn't want it? And if she had it, what would she think, and what would he think? These thoughts spun around in her head so that she almost felt dizzy by them.

Ron extinguished the lights with a flick of his wand, and they crawled into bed, resuming their usual position. Ron laid on his back, his left arm outstretched so that Hermione could use it as a pillow, her body facing him, her arm draped across his torso.

"Are you okay?" Ron asked for a few minutes of darkened silence. She could feel his head move above her as he rested the side of his face on the top of her head. Her hair was starting to return to its curly chaos again. "You've been really quiet ever since we got home."

Home. The word seemed to give her the bit of strength she needed.

Hermione took a deep breath, and let the first question that came to mind fall from her lips. It was almost as if she was watching herself as she did it; she felt oddly detached from her own body. She was shielding herself, she knew, protecting herself from his answer. She did not even look at him as she asked; she was a coward. Instead she spoke to his ribcage, which was about eye level. She wondered to herself if she was running headlong into the end of everything. If she was destroying what they had built, torn down in one question. Though if he answered wrong, it meant that everything they had built had been made of paper and lace.

"Ron," she said slowly. "If you had a daughter," she paused. If she was going to do this, she had to do this right. She couldn't cut corners. "If _we_ had a daughter, what would her name be?" There was silence. Hermione knew there were two ways this conversation could go. He could answer, which meant that he was not running away, or he could say something made-up and stupid, like Griselda, which meant that he was joking to get himself out of an uncomfortable conversation. A conversation that held no meaning for him.

She chanced a glance at him, and saw that he was biting the inside of his cheek. _Was he actually thinking_? The silence spread longer and longer. Hermione could feel her heart pounding inside her chest, anxiously waiting for what he was going to say. It was the longest silence in the world, the black void of it threatening to swallow them. This could be the end of it all. Their tissue paper walls could rip apart.

"Rose," he said finally. Hermione lifted her head off of his arm, propping herself up on her elbow to look at him. Her ears were ringing, and she almost dared to believe that she had just made up what she had heard. But she couldn't have. Ron was looking back at her with such a challenging intensity that she knew she hadn't imagined anything at all. He was challenging her, daring _her_ to run away. But she was here. She was right here. And the walls were made of stone, of brick, of marble.

"Rose?" she said slowly, her voice trembling a little.

Ron nodded, his expression still serious, though now there was a twinge of doubt, and she knew he was scared she didn't like the name. "I don't know," he said softly, the uncertainty sliding under his whisper. "It's just…I've always liked it, I don't even know _why_. Though I bet it would be awful for a girl with ginger hair," he said musingly.

He wasn't running away. He wasn't running away at all. He was lying there thinking of his daughter – _their_ daughter – their suddenly very real daughter with a very real name. And maybe she wasn't real yet, and maybe she wouldn't be real for ten years. But she was a possibility. She was the shape of a hope. And there in their dark bedroom, they had run right into the future and they had survived. They were here, it was real. And then Hermione burst into tears. She couldn't help it; the thought of it was overwhelming. It was all real, _they_ were real.

Ron sat up, alarmed. Hermione sat up too, clutching the blankets to her chest. "It doesn't have to be Rose!" Ron shouted over her tears, his face set in alarm. "I just thought…" he muttered helplessly, twisting the blankets around in his fingers. "That it's a nice name," he finished helplessly, giving her a curious look now, his eyes burning into her, she could feel them.

Then, Hermione gave him a watery laugh, and he seemed to calm immediately. She crossed the tiny distance they had created between them and hugged him tightly, tears still falling thickly down her face. Ron patted her on the back, though she could tell he was a bit uncertain as to what had just happened. "It's a perfect name. It's beautiful," she said. "It's so, so beautiful."

…

_Author's Note: Sorry I had to sacrifice Ginny and Harry's relationship, but they were the catalyst to that conversation, which I really needed to have happen. Don't worry, they'll get back together. Did you guys like it? Hate it? Please review if you can! I'll have chapter 34 out as soon as I can get to a computer/get over my writers block, which has annoyingly developed halfway through the chapter._

_Also, thank you to the lovely reviewer who told me that the website for my charity didn't get posted in my last author's note. Here's it is: www dot refresheverything dot com slash heartsforhope. I hope that works! Please, please vote if you can!_


	34. It Started With An Argument

_Author's Note: Wow, thank you all for the amazing reviews, I think there were over thirty which is incredible! I'm so happy you didn't get out the pitchforks and hunt me down for breaking up Ginny and Harry, because I was scared some of you might!_

_Apologies for not updating sooner. Originally, this was the chapter with The Surprise in it, but then I realized that I really should do this chapter first. Don't worry, it's coming up next! I also haven't been writing because I've been a bit preoccupied with writing something non-FF, which I haven't done in a while, and was obvious because when I finished writing a chapter, and started writing an Author's Note!_

_I'd like to dedicate this chapter to everyone who voted for my idea (I know Bluerain22 also put a message on the Hearts for Hope site, but I think there were more of you that voted) so a huge thank you to you guys! Voting has been extended another month, so you can still vote for my charity at www dot refresheverything dot com slash heartsforhope._

_I'd also like to dedicate this chapter to my sister, who put up with me when I couldn't get this chapter perfect (and it really, really needed to be perfect). I also love her infinitely because she's getting me a watch for my seventeenth birthday on Thursday, since it's traditional to give a witch who comes of age a watch. : ) _

_Enjoy the chapter!_

…

Chapter Thirty-Four:

"Well, it looks a lot better than I thought it would," Hermione said, her voice loud in the dark house. She was aware of how falsely cheerful her voice was, and how fake she sounded, but she couldn't bring herself to sound more genuine. She placed the box she was holding down on the ground beside her and looked around the dimly lit, high ceilinged corridor of Grimmuald Place. Harry, who was standing behind her, grunted in a reply. She hadn't expected much more.

"We haven't been here for ages, I thought that it might have gotten dirty again," she added, shaking her hands, which were stinging from holding the heavy box, and then picked it up again.

Harry grunted again, though he still said nothing. He had talked very little in the two months since he and Ginny had split up. After New Years, he had been sleeping on the sofa in Ron and Hermione's flat. Hermione had gone to get Harry's things from the flat across the hallway, because Harry refused to see Ginny. Ginny had moved back to the Burrow; she had tried to live on her own for a few weeks, but she said she hated the silence, though Hermione suspected that she just didn't like the possibility of seeing Harry in the corridors.

Last night, Harry had announced at dinner that he had overstayed his welcome and would be moving into Grimmuald Place. Ron and Hermione had shouted him down at once, saying that he could stay there as long as he liked, and of course they didn't mind him there. Though deep down, Hermione had been a bit grateful at his announcement. Harry hadn't been much of a laugh, and she knew that he had put a bit of a damper on Ron's birthday dinner (which she had planned for days) the week before.

Not to mention how much life between Ron and Hermione had changed ever since they had gotten a flat and had been living on their own. When Harry started living with them, they both realized rather quickly that a lot of their habits had to be checked now that they weren't alone. The first week Harry stayed with them, Hermione had to continually remind herself that she could no longer walk around the flat in an old tee-shirt of Ron's and her underwear. And there had been the uncomfortable moment when Ron, forgetting that Hermione was now not the only one who walked through their front door, had announced from the kitchen that "I have a bath running and you better get your clothes off, unless I can do it faster," which had been made extremely uncomfortable by Harry saying that he'd rather keep his on, thanks very much.

Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing at the memory of this, and looked around the house instead. Kreacher had died a few weeks ago; they had come back to Grimmuald Place to see if everything was safe to find the old elf, seemingly asleep in his room in the boiler. They had had a small funeral for the house elf, and the three of them had shed very genuine tears. With the place empty for some time, Hermione was sure that it would be covered in cobwebs again, like it had been the first summer that they had been here. Admittedly, the place had been cleaner, but it was nothing a quick charm couldn't fix. Hermione thought she might mention this to Harry, but she didn't think this would cheer him up at all.

They walked carefully down the hallway, trying to make as little noise as possible to keep Sirius's mother from waking up and screaming. Hermione winced at the thought of Harry, living here all alone, having to be silent all the time so as not to wake up an angry portrait. The image of it in her mind was incredibly sad, and she felt tears pinch the corners of her eyes.

They made their way down to the basement kitchen, where they would be able to talk in normal voices. Hermione put her box on the large kitchen table and pulled out a rickety chair, using her wand to siphon off the dust before sitting down on it. Harry mimicked her, looking around the long kitchen miserably. Ron, bringing up the rear, dropped his heavy-sounding boxes and swore, appreciating that he could now speak in a normal volume.

The atmosphere of the kitchen was so morose that Hermione felt as if she needed to do something, anything, to break apart some of the thickness in the air. Standing up, she waved her wand at the boxes so that their tops sprang open. Not knowing which ones held what, she pointed her wand at the boxes in general and said "Accio Butterbeers!" to which three bottles obligingly responded and soared out of a box in the corner and into her hands.

Ron and Harry took them with a word of thanks. Hermione, who didn't really want it, just held hers in her hands, eyeing Harry carefully. She hated the idea of him living alone like this. Even though they were all living in London, he seemed very far away.

She gave Ron a look, hoping to convey her feelings, and knew that he understood at once by the nod he gave her. Glancing at Harry, Ron cleared his throat rather hesitantly. "Things are going to get better," he told Harry, who was looking at something neither Ron nor Hermione could see.

Harry looked up at his voice, slightly surprised. He shook his head as if to clear a thought and gave them both a fragile smile. "I know," he said unevenly. "I just don't really like being here again, that's all," he said, looking down at the bottle in his hands.

Hermione frowned. "You didn't have to leave! You could have stayed with us, you know," she said, and from his chair at the kitchen table, Ron nodded in agreement.

"If you don't want to do this, we can just bring the boxes up and you can come back," Ron said, looking at Harry intently. She knew it was the mark of a strong friendship that the two of them were offering this, despite their desires to be alone.

Harry looked tempted for a moment, though he shook his head a second later. "Nah, I couldn't do that to you two," he told them, though their offers made him look marginally happier. He glanced at Ron, "Unless you want me to, of course. Since _I_ was never offered a bath," he said, his voice shaking with laughter. Ron's ears turned red.

Hermione felt her cheeks redden. "Well, if you're okay here…" she said uncertainly. "But do know that you can visit whenever you like," she added.

"Just as long as you tell us first, and don't, you know, just walk in," Ron said, and Hermione knew that he was still thinking of the incident with the bath.

Harry laughed and said that he would; he had learned his lesson. After that the air in the kitchen seemed slightly warmer and thinner, and it was moments like these that Hermione hoped that one day things would sort themselves out, and Harry would be okay. She hated that the two of them weren't speaking, and she hated that Ginny hadn't told Harry the truth. The weight of Ginny's secret, and the fact that she had to keep this from Ron made her feel stressed and jumpy, like she might blurt it out at any moment.

The two of them left Harry a half an hour later, assuring him that they would see him soon. They stood on the street, watching as number twelve slowly shrunk from sight. Hermione sighed unhappily, watching as the door finally disappeared from view.

"Something wrong?" Ron asked, looking down at her concernedly and taking her hand in his.

Hermione shook her head. "I just don't like the idea of him living alone in there, that's all," she said, squeezing his hand, though he doubted he could feel it through his thick gloves. It had been an unseasonably cold March so far.

Ron made a low hum of agreement. "I know," he said, his voice sending out puffs of white smoke that gleamed in the artificial orange haze caused by the streetlights around them. "But I think it's for the best. I don't think he liked sleeping on the sofa much," he said.

Hermione nodded in agreement. Maybe now that Harry was on his own and independent, he would feel a bit better. She knew he thought that they pitied him the entire time he had stayed with them, and the feeling undoubtedly had not made him feel any better. Besides, Harry had always been a rather solitary person, he liked doing things on his own, and she knew he would be able to cope there.

"Come on, it's freezing out here," Ron said, shivering, and they both Disapperated into the cold dark air and back to their flat, which was mercifully warm and bright. Hermione crossed the room and lit a fire with her wand in their small fireplace, and Ron went into the kitchen, banging the cabinets open.

"I'm starving," he announced. "What are we going to do for dinner?" he called to her, his voice muffled as he stuck his head inside a pantry to examine its contents.

"Well, there's some…" but she never finished the sentence; she was momentarily distracted by a small tapping noise coming from the window to her left. She turned around to see Pig, his wings beating wildly as he tapped on the sitting room window, a letter tied to his talons.

"What's that sound?" Ron asked sharply from the kitchen.

Hermione went to the window and opened it for the small owl, sending in both bird and a gale of icy cold wind that bit at her face and made her shiver all over again.

"It's Pig," she called back to Ron, watching as the owl hooted, happy to be out of the terrible weather, and flew several laps around the sitting room. Hermione laughed and tried to beckon him down so that she could get the letter from him.

"_What_?" Ron shouted, and she jumped slightly, not expecting his loud voice. He hurtled out of the kitchen and ran into the living room, his eyes on the small owl overhead. He vaulted over the coffee table and grabbed the owl out of the air, Pig hooting happily at what he apparently thought was a game. Hermione watched as Ron tore the letter from the owl's leg and read it, his eyes moving quickly as they trailed down the small piece of paper. When he got to the end, his face turned an alarming shade of white, which contrasted with his ears, which had turned pink. He looked down at the letter, he looked shocked and happy at the same time. "It's okay," he whispered, his voice so small she barely heard him. "I can do it now," she thought she heard him say.

"Who is it from?" Hermione asked anxiously as Ron released the small owl. He flew to the arm of the sofa, clearly not wanting to go back in the cold.

Ron crushed the letter in his hands, and then looked up at her as if he had temporarily forgotten that she was standing a few feet from him. He held onto the letter even tighter. "It's not important," he said evasively. He was a terrible liar; he always had been. She could tell that whatever that letter had said, it had been everything but unimportant.

Hermione raised her eyebrows, not taking this for an answer. "Come on Ron, who was it from? What did it say?" she asked, now starting to feel slightly worried.

Ron bit his lip. "I told you, it's not important, all right?" he gave her a give-it-a-rest-please look and started back into the kitchen. "So, what about dinner?" he asked, with an air of wanting to forget the entire thing. Hermione, however, was not following his charade. She didn't move, but stared at him disbelievingly.

"Ron, who was that letter from?" she asked for a third time. Ron stopped and turned to face her. He was still very white, and his hands were shaking. It was making her feel scared.

"Please Hermione," he begged. "Don't ask, okay?"

Hermione folded her arms. "No it's not okay! You've just received a letter and now you look awful! What did the letter say?"

Ron squared his shoulders, ready for a fight. "You don't need to know what every one of my letters says, do you? Drop it," he said, his voice slightly raised.

Hermione's mouth dropped open. "I will not! Please, you're scaring me. Did something bad happen?"

Ron laughed shakily, looking down at his fist, which concealed the letter. "No, nothing bad happened," he said in a low voice.

"Then why can't you tell me what it said?" she wailed, stamping her foot in frustration. Ron rolled his eyes in apparent annoyance.

"Because it's none of your damn business alright?" he shouted, taking a step closer to her.

Hermione glared at him angrily. "And I'm just supposed to accept that, am I? What do you want me to do Ron?" she asked harshly.

"I want you to forget about it!" he shouted back, taking another step closer to her so that they were now about a foot apart. Hermione calculated her reflexes against his. If she could move quickly enough, if she caught him off-guard…

"I can't forget about it," she told him. "Just tell me what the letter said," she pleaded, looking down at his fist clamped tightly around the piece of paper.

Ron shook his head. "No, sorry," he said, though he didn't sound very sorry at all. Hermione lunged for the piece of paper and tried to force his fist open, but he was stronger than her. They fought foolishly for several seconds, Ron finally raising his hand above his head where she could not reach it.

Spitting hair out of her mouth, she jumped up and down, trying to get the letter, which was now high above her. "Come on, Ron," she said furiously, aware of how stupid she must look.

Ron looked almost amused. "No, Hermione. It's my letter, it's none of your business," he said, and Hermione thought of a different plan instead. She took a step back, pushing her hair out of her face.

"You're right, I'm sorry," she said softly, looking down at the ground because if she looked him in the eyes, she was sure he'd know what she was doing.

"Oh," Ron said, and she could tell, even without looking at him, that he was shocked and slightly unnerved by her change in attitude. Her heart sped up; her idea was going to work.

She took a step closer and kissed him on the mouth, feeling mean and dirty for doing it. It had the desired affect though, and Ron lowered his hand and loosened his grip enough so that she could grab the letter out of it.

"Oi!" he shouted, shocked at what had just happened. Hermione was unfolding the letter, her finger's shaking as she did so. What was she going to see when she opened it? Her heart dropped; what if it was female handwriting? What if…but no, that was impossible. Wasn't it?

She saw a flash of words before the letter was ripped from her grip, Ron looking furiously at her, the letter back in his hand. "What are you playing at?" he asked her furiously, but she barely heard him. She knew the writing, it was familiar. And she couldn't understand why Ron would hide it from her.

"Why are you writing to my dad?" she asked him softly.

Ron froze. If he had been pale a few minutes ago, it was nothing compared to how he looked now. His face had turned an ashen grey, and he looked almost as if he was going to be sick. "You read it?" he asked hoarsely.

Hermione shook her head and color flooded back to his face. "No," she said, "But I recognize the handwriting. Why did you write to him?" she asked curiously.

Ron shook his head as well. "I can't tell you that," he said, though he wasn't shouting anymore. Instead, he crossed the room and threw the letter into the fire. The two of them watched the paper curl as it blackened and burned. Hermione felt her heart sink. She had wanted to see what the letter had said. Although now she knew that it must be harmless, it only made her curiosity grow as to what Ron would possibly write to Mr. Granger about.

"Why did you do that?" she cried, rushing over to the fire as if she could somehow save the letter.

Ron looked oddly satisfied. "So that you couldn't read it. Trust me Hermione, it's for your own good," he said, crossing his arms and looking defiant. She wanted to hit him.

"For my own good?" she shrieked, whipping around and staring at him incredulously.

"That's right," Ron said, cocking an eyebrow and giving her a look, challenging her. Hermione fired up at once.

"If you think that answer is going to be fine with me, then you don't know me at all," she said coolly, and her pulse quickened. She did not like where this conversation was going, where she was taking it.

This time, Ron's mouth dropped open. The atmosphere of the flat changed completely; where there had once been the heat of their argument, now there was emptiness. Hermione had emptied the room, and it was up to Ron to fill it, to take the conversation in whatever direction it would go. Hermione was shaking now.

Ron didn't say anything for several seconds, and the silence weighed so heavily on her ears, Hermione felt as if her head might burst. They just stood there, staring at each other, daring each other. Ron's face was still white, and Hermione knew she must be pale with shock too.

"You think I don't really know you?" Ron said at last, his voice anguished but flat. Hermione didn't know how to answer. She knew it wasn't true, but if he could hide things like that letter from her…

"I know _everything_ about you," Ron said slowly, answering his own question. His eyes were deep in her so that she could not look away from him, not even if she wanted.

"You have a funny way of showing it, because if you really knew everything, you'd know that I wouldn't be okay with you keeping secrets like that," Hermione said, her voice very soft.

Ron closed his eyes for a moment, apparently having hoped that the letter discussion was now over. Hermione waited for him to defend himself, for him to jump at the opportunity to counter her argument, to fight back. But he didn't.

She turned away from him, now unable to look at his face. She did not know what was happening. She felt bruised, weak, tired. She needed for him to say something, though what exactly, she did not know.

"I know that your favorite month is Autumn because that's when your birthday is. And the leaves on the trees start to turn colors. When you were younger you'd like to collect them – the leaves, I mean – because you couldn't stand not having a piece of that beauty," Ron said softly, and Hermione turned around to face him, her lips slightly parted. Ron was looking at her, his eyes wide, his face still white, his hands shaking. He looked nervous.

"I know that the first thing you do in the morning is try to remember the dream you were having, because you can never quite remember them. I know that the most precious thing you have is a necklace your grandmother gave to you before she died. You don't wear it, but sometimes, when you think you're alone, you like to hold it and cry. I know that you sing to yourself when you get dressed, even though it's always off-tune. I know that your favorite thing to do on a rainy day is curl up with a huge book and read. I know that when you were younger you wanted to be a teacher, but you were always scared kids wouldn't like you. I know that you make your tea with two teabags, because it's stronger that way, and you still don't put any sugar in it. I know that when you get out of the shower, you always look at yourself and scrunch up your nose, as if you don't think you're beautiful, which is mad because you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen." Hermione was crying now, though she did not know why. She took a step closer to Ron, all anger forgotten. He did not move, but continued, his eyes tenderly on her.

"I know that you aren't very good at sports, and that always frustrated you, because you wanted to be good at everything. I know that your favorite childhood memory is decorating the Christmas tree with your parents. I know that the thing that scares you the most is death. I know that you'd rather spend an evening at home with a good book then out at a pub. I know that sometimes when you see the sunrise it makes you cry, even though you pretend it doesn't. I know that the sound people make when they chew gum disgusts you, which is why you never do it. I know that your favorite food is mashed potatoes, but you can never get it right yourself, because you always undercook the potatoes. I know that you want to go to Paris more than any other place, but you've never been. I know that you don't really like heights because they make you feel as if you don't have control. I know that you want to change the world, and I know that someday, you will." Hermione was nearly to sobbing now, though she still did not know why. Ron was very close, close enough to touch. He seemed to read her mind, and he put one hand on either side of her face.

"I know that when I have to work late, you sleep with an old shirt of mine under your pillow, because you're scared I won't make it back, or something will happen. I know that the last thing you do before you go to bed is kiss me on the cheek, because you like to think that it's the last thing you'll think of before you drift off. I know that you nag me about leaving my clothes all over the floor, but really you don't mind it because you like the sight of my things next to yours. I know that you can be funny, even if other people don't think so. I know that sometimes you can be thinking something, and I'll just _know_. I know that there's no one in the world who can win an argument against you except for me. I know that you're brave, and you're clever, and you're kind, and you're beautiful," Ron said, his eyes locked on Hermione.

"What else?" Hermione whispered. "What else do you know?" she asked.

Ron took a shaky breath, his eyes clouded with tears. "I know that I want to wake up with you next to me forever. I know that there's nothing I'd rather do than kiss you on a Sunday morning and make you a cup of tea, because that makes you happy. And I know that if everything else in the world is gone, it would be okay as long as you were there and I could make you happy. I know that I'd do anything for you. I know that I'd die for you. I know that I love you, I love you more than anything in the whole world."

And then, Hermione watched as he lowered his hands from her face and got down on one knee.

"I know that no matter what happens in my life, it won't matter if you aren't there too," Ron said, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. Hermione put a shaky hand to her mouth; it felt like such a cliché, but now was not the moment to consider clichés. Reaching into his back pocket, he took out a delicate little box and opened it, showing her a beautiful diamond ring. Hermione's breath was uneven, she felt as if she might fall down or faint. "Hermione," Ron said, looking up at her, his blue eyes shining. "Will you marry me?"

"Y-yes," she sobbed, the tears falling thickly as she cried, so heavy that she almost couldn't see. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, _yes_!" Ron's eyes widened and his face split into a grin. With more care than Hermione thought was possible, Ron took out the ring and slipped it onto the fourth finger on her left hand. She looked down at it and it felt instantly right, like it should have been there all along. He got up, looking as though he couldn't quite figure out what was happening. Hermione laughed and the silence broke. He laughed happily, kissing her.

"You said yes!" he cried, kissing her again, tears now dripping off his cheeks and onto his shirt, though Hermione thought a few of them might be hers.

"_Yes_!" she sobbed, and she didn't think she would ever be able to stop saying that word. He laughed weakly and kissing her so enthusiastically that he picked her up, and her feet were about a foot from the ground. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, now thinking how wonderful and perfect and beautiful and _right_ it was that she was his and he was hers, and they could kiss like this forever and ever.

…

_Author's Note: I really hope I didn't disappoint any of you with that. I wanted it to be quiet and romantic and just between the two of them. I also wanted it to start with an argument, because that is how their relationship started, and I thought it would be a very "them" thing to do. Just to clear up confusion, the letter Ron received was from Ron's father saying he could propose to Hermione. Ron wrote to him asking permission…you can understand why he wouldn't want Hermione to read it!_

_Also clearing things up: the ring __is not__ The Surprise (surprise!). No, that's what the next chapter is about, so stay tuned! Hopefully that now I have a working computer, I'll be able to update quicker!_


	35. A Surprise

_Author's Note: It took me three attempts to get this chapter right! I hope you all like it, I'm so happy I could update and get this up fast!_

_This chapter is dedicated to everyone who gave such lovely, lovely reviews for chapter thirty four (in order of most recent review): GossipGirlHere, eliza surpriza, chudleycannonfan, ermireallydontcare, MrsEmCullen.x, LostInWriting, LJ Fan, milan4ever, Bluerain22, placebo13, breenie, lokoper, kggirl21, NinjaWizardGleek15, wordsmithsonian, Zebra, huloo, Hagis10, Katie, urbanmama, AveryWeasley, myoung228, jusnic, NotExactlySuperGirl, InkWeaverabc, Off Dreaming, SandySunday, Abbetrix Lystrange, xannalix, ObsessedRHShipper, ShePotter, Trude, glowyrm, RainingStu, Sam, Patrinorama, ., tryntee13, Wynn Hygeorht, StarlightGlow, Writingtriq, MarkedTwiPotter._

_Okay I think that's all (42 oh my gosh!) of you…and I think I got all of the names right! Thank you so much for your reviews!_

_Enjoy the chapter, I really hope you all like it!_

…

Chapter Thirty-Five –

"I still can't believe he had the balls to propose to you," Ginny said, grinning at Hermione from where she was perched on their kitchen counter, her heel banging rhythmically into the cabinet behind her.

"_Ginny_!" Hermione admonished, giving the girl a reproachful look for her blunt phrasing from her place at the opposite counter. She was overseeing the lettuce as it washed itself in the sink, then floated to the cutting board, where a knife hovered, waiting.

Ginny shrugged. "What?" she said defensively. "Come _on_, you know Ron. It took him ages to finally admit to himself that he liked you, and then he _still_ didn't do anything about it. I thought _you'd_ eventually have to ask _him_ to marry you, because he'd never be able to do it!" Ginny said, shaking with laughter.

Hermione bit her lower lip to keep from laughing. "You're right," she admitted, not looking Ginny in the eye. "But he's different now, he's more grown up, it's not like at school!" Hermione said, sticking up for Ron, who wasn't even here.

Ginny raised an eyebrow as she examined Hermione. "Really?" she said slowly. "Are you sure this is the same Ron we're talking about? The Ron who gags when he sees Bill and Fleur kissing and puts his fingers in his ears and hums loudly whenever Harry and I would…" but Ginny stopped talking, her face oddly blank. Hermione froze, her wand hand over the sink, her body turned to look at Ginny. Her eyes scoured Ginny's face, searching for an ounce of emotion she could read, but there was nothing. The air in the kitchen grew extremely uncomfortable. The silence drew on, neither girl knowing how to break it.

Ginny finally rearranged her face into an almost convincing smile. "Anyway, let me see the ring again," she said, grinning broadly at Hermione, who was slightly unnerved by the sudden change in Ginny's emotion. Giving Ginny a searching look which Ginny refused to meet, Hermione held out her left hand. Behind her, the chopped lettuce flew into the salad bowl and began to toss itself.

Ginny looked down at Hermione's hand approvingly. "It's a beautiful ring," she said, smiling in appreciation. Hermione smiled broadly and looked down at her hand, nodding in agreement.

Hermione had not considered herself to be a girly kind of girl. As a child, she had never dreamed of her wedding day like most girls did; the frilly dresses and the flowers and the bridesmaids. That sort of thing just hadn't interested her. She had always assumed that whenever – or _if_ ever – she got married, she would approach the entire thing in the same way she's attack a particularly challenging homework assignment: with the methodical, logical organization that brought positive results. Now that she was actually getting married (_she was getting married!_) she realized how wrong she was.

She was constantly surrounded by questions about the wedding – from her coworkers, her parents, Mrs. Weasley – and she found herself surprised that she didn't mind the constant nagging. In fact, she found that she actually _enjoyed_ it. She loved that an elderly witch from the Department of International Magical Cooperation stopped her in the corridor and asked her when the date was, if there was one set. She loved that Madame Houghton's secretary had hung over her cubicle to drill Hermione about flowers and the location. She loved that Isaac's eyes welled up and he gave her a large hug when she told him.

She had not realized the volumes of gossip that washed over the younger Ministry workers until the subject of the gossip was _her_. She remembered the scene in the lift a few days ago. She was in the back corner, reading floor-length memo someone had written to her about the role of House Elves during the Dark Ages, so her face was completely hidden. Two witches who looked to be in their late twenties had entered the lift, pushing past the others for a spot to stand until they were directly in front of Hermione, which meant she could hear them but they could not see her.

The first of the two witches, who was taller, had turned to her companion and had stage-whispered, "So, did you hear about Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger?" at which point Hermione had stopped reading the memo and glanced over the top of her parchment in curiosity.

The shorter of the two narrowed her eyes in concentration, "Who?" she asked.

The first witch rolled her eyes in apparent annoyance at her friend's slowness. "You know, Harry Potter's best friends? The ones who helped him fight off You-Know-Who?" she asked, raising a contemptuous eyebrow.

The second had nodded, comprehension dawning, "Oh yeah, sorry. What about them?" she asked with a tone of half interest, half boredom.

The first witch smiled widely, apparently very happy that she was going to be the one to deliver this information. "They're getting married! It's all over the office, I can't believe you haven't heard anything about it," she said in that same scornful tone. Hermione lowered the piece of parchment a little, looking from one woman to the other. If either one discovered that one of the object of their conversation was standing right behind them, it would be very awkward indeed. With that thought in mind, she raised the memo higher, covering her face completely.

The second witch merely looked confused. "But I thought the three of them are friends?" she asked.

The first witch rolled her eyes. "Well, they _were_ friends, but the two of them fell in love or something, and now they're getting _married_. Isn't that the most romantic thing _ever_?" she crowed, causing a few other people in the lift to look at her. Hermione lowered her head, scared of being recognized.

The second witch let out a moan of jealously. "Can you imagine falling in love with your best friend? That's _so_ lucky!" she whispered loudly, so that the rest of the people in the lift – who were now all listening intently – could hear her.

The first witch smiled ruefully. "That's not all. He's an _Auror_ and she works pretty high up in some department around here, can you imagine? They're like some sort of perfect couple or something," she said enviously. At this point, Hermione almost laughed, though she didn't because it would have brought attention to her. She had never thought anyone would describe her and Ron as "perfect." It felt nice.

But then the lift had stopped and Hermione had realized with an uncomfortable jolt that this was her stop. Head bowed, she tried to leave as inconspicuously as she could, but as the gilded doors were closed, she heard the second witch exclaim, "Hey! That was Hermione Granger!"

"Hermione!" Ginny said loudly, and Hermione arrived with a thud back in the kitchen in the present, leaving the memory of the lift behind. She blinked and shook her head to clear her mind, giving Ginny an apologetic smile.

"Sorry," she said, feeling her cheeks grow warm. Ginny did not scold her, but rather smiled warmly. Hermione remembered that before her lapse into memories, they had been discussing the ring.

"So, how does it feel to own a real, genuine Weasley heirloom?" Ginny asked, and Hermione couldn't tell if she was joking or not. Ron had told her that the ring had belonged to his great grandmother, the only thing of value that had been passed down to him. It made Hermione love it even more.

Hermione laughed. "It's wonderful," she said blushingly; something she was doing rather a lot these days. In fact, she was privately glad that Ginny was here to keep her grounded and like her old self; with all of the attention she was getting about the wedding, she was starting to feel overly giddy. At a meeting yesterday, she had found herself writing "Mrs. Ron Weas–" before she realized what she was doing. Face glowing red, she had crumpled the piece of parchment up before anyone else could see what it said.

She smiled to herself, feeling the wave of happiness wash over her once more at the thought of what she had (almost) written. She was feeling that a lot lately. There were several words that made her feel like this. Wedding. Married. Ring. Date. Ron. Any one of them would set her off completely, so that she would get this mad grin plastered to her face that she found almost impossible to get off.

"Hello? Hermione?" Ginny said impatiently, snapping her fingers in front of Hermione's blank face. Hermione blinked several times, gave Ginny a reassuring smile, then turned back to the salad. She added vegetables to the lettuce, then waved her wand over the bowl as the salad continued to toss itself.

"Anyway," Hermione said, struggling to keep her mind off the wedding (_wedding!_) because she knew it might upset Ginny. She felt bad for practically rubbing it in Ginny's face, especially when Ginny was so miserable over Harry right now. "Didn't you say you had a problem you had to talk to me about?" she asked, and Ginny thought to herself. Ginny had started to come over to Ron and Hermione's flat after practice. She said it was because she missed living so close to them, but Hermione knew it was to postpone going back to the Burrow, where Mrs. Weasley would inevitably pester her about Harry. Hermione didn't mind; she liked Ginny's company, and there was a window of about an hour where both Hermione and Ginny were done with work, and Ron was not. Hermione especially liked the shocking amount of discretion Ginny had learned to use; the moment Ron came home, she would slip out and leave the two of them alone.

"Oh, yeah," Ginny said slowly, squinting as she tried to remember. "Well, remember that woman I told you about? Malory Philips? Today she rammed into me and I fell about fifteen feet off my broom," Ginny said. She leaned over and picked a crouton off of the top of the salad as if she had just announced a weather forecast, and not a fall from an alarming height.

Hermione's mouth dropped open in horror as she inspected the girl in front of her. "Are you hurt? That's so far to fall!" she cried, searching Ginny over as if she might have missed a sling or a black eye.

Ginny nodded. "Don't worry, I had my wand just for that reason, I broke the fall. Besides, I grew up with six brothers, I practically _bounce_!" she said with an impressive amount of bravado. "Simple Cushioning Charm, that's all. Too bad the Captain's back was turned though; because that's the sixth time this week and if something doesn't happen soon I'm going to…"

"Sixth time this week!" Hermione repeated loudly, and Ginny looked up from where she was picking at the salad. "But Ginny, you should really report her!" she said. This was the downside to Ginny playing professional Quidditch; she was very young, and therefore the target of a lot of jealousy from the older players who didn't have the opportunities she did. However, Ginny was made of tough skin; she let everything slide off her, even when the players did nasty things, like knock her out of the air for no apparent reason.

"Oh, Hermione," Ginny said exasperatedly, with a tinge of scorn. "I can't report her, can I? She's on _my_ team. If I do, I'll have it worse than I already do!" she said, though she looked bored. Hermione knew better; she knew that Ginny was telling her this story because she knew exactly how Hermione was going to react. She wanted to see Hermione all worried over her. Hermione did not voice this knowledge; Ginny had needs, especially because Harry wasn't here for Ginny to complain to.

"Fine, don't report her," Hermione said in concession, not wanting to play Ginny's game. "Just be careful, okay?" she said. Ginny looked rather disappointed at Hermione's lack of an eruption, but nodded, taking the last crouton out of the salad.

"Well, that's…I…fine," Ginny said, slightly lost for words. Not knowing what to say next, she instead turned to the salad bowl and picked out the last tomato. "I have a game on Sunday," she said, more to the bowl than to Hermione. "Do you two want to come?" she asked hopefully.

Hermione smiled. "Sure, we'll come…" she said, snatching the bowl from Ginny's reach. "If you stop picking at our salad! Look, there's only lettuce left!" she said, giving Ginny a half-meant angry look and setting the bowl on the opposite counter where Ginny couldn't take anything from it.

Ginny had the grace to be embarrassed. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, looking down at her legs and twisting a piece of hair around her finger instead.

Hermione took out new vegetables to replace the ones Ginny had eaten and busied herself with washing them while Ginny twirled her hair and thought. The kitchen was silent, so that when the door banged open, it sounded more like a small explosion, and both girls jumped; Ginny fell right off the counter and Hermione shrieked. Hermione's wand jerked a little at her movement and the cucumber that had been peeling itself under Hermione's ministration fell out of the air and onto the floor at her feet.

Ron walked in, dropping his bag near the sofa and looking at where the two girls were standing at the kitchen. His eyes found Hermione's and he grinned softly, a smile only for her. Hermione loved that smile, and she felt her heart flutter a little. She thought this might have appeared on her face, because when she glanced at Ginny to see her reaction, she saw jealousy pass over Ginny's face.

"Hi," he said to her, and she rushed out of the kitchen to say hello to him. She walked over the cucumber unconcernedly, rounding the corner and jumping into his arms. He caught her effortlessly and she wrapped her legs around his waist. This had become their new way of greeting each other, and Hermione rather liked this change.

"Hi," she said, kissing him on the cheek and then on the neck, right below his ear. He had a lot of freckles on his neck. Hermione loved it.

"How are _you_?" Ron asked, his voice slightly louder as he spoke into his ear. Hermione waited for what was going to come next, because every day since last Saturday, there had always been something that was added onto this question. "How is my fiancée?" he added, and Hermione beamed.

_Fiancée. Fiancée. Fiancée. Fiancée. Fiancée. Fiancée. _

If there was any word in the whole world that could make her shiver with happiness, it was that word. Especially when Ron used it. Especially when he used it when he was talking to her, about her.

"I'm perfect," she said happily, leaning back a little so that she could see his face. From behind Ron's back, Ginny slipped out of the kitchen and out of the hall. Hermione raised a hand in goodbye, and Ginny mimicked it, though her smile was rather sad.

"I couldn't concentrate all day," Ron said, shaking his head. Hermione noted that he needed a haircut; his hair was getting in his eyes. She moved her hand from around his neck and brushed hair out of his face. It was her left hand. Ron caught it and looked down at it, smiling happily at her hand, at the diamond that glittered there. He kissed the back of her hand before he gave it back to her, where she put it back around his neck.

"Why couldn't you concentrate today?" Hermione asked, continuing the conversation from where they had left off.

Ron grinned coyly. "Well there's this woman I'm going to marry, you see. And I've been keeping this secret, this surprise from her for quite a while. I couldn't tell her because it wasn't ready yet. But it was ready this morning, and I couldn't concentrate all day, because I kept on thinking about it, and how she would react when I gave it to her," he said.

Hermione shrieked, and Ron winced, though good-naturedly; he seemed too happy to be cross about anything. "The surprise!" she cried. "You have it?" she asked, practically shouting.

Ron grinned happily and nodded. Hermione looked around the room, as if she had managed to overlook a large box or something wrapped. There was nothing. Admittedly, she had no idea what she was supposed to be looking for. Over the last several months she had asked him occasionally, though he had always been uncharacteristically vague, and refused to give her any clues. She had hoped that she would catch him off-guard at some point, so the conversation of the surprise usually came up as he was just drifting off to sleep, or while he was in the shower. Hermione would have considered this to be unfair to him, except for the fact that he never gave anything away. She had tried guessing games, asking questions like: "Is it round?" and "Is it purple?" but he had always feigned deafness when she had started these questions, and therefore the game never lasted long. She was slightly annoyed that after nearly six months, she had been unsuccessful in wrangling the secret from him. She had thought (slightly ashamed of herself) that he would have given it up long before now, but Ron, it seemed, was determined.

Ron laughed. "No, I don't have it with me, it's not something you can carry around in your pocket," he told her. Hermione stopped looking around the flat for it and looked instead at Ron's face. She was sure that at any moment he was going to tell her what it was, but he did not.

"What is it?" she asked finally, when he gave her no answers. Ron had never been this successful in keeping a secret from her.

Except for the fact that he had had that ring in his pocket for two months and he hadn't told her about it. He had told her while they were lying in bed a few days ago that on New Year's Eve, he had asked for the ring while they were at the Burrow. Hermione had been surprised to hear this, because it meant that both Mrs. Weasley and Ron – two very unlikely people to keep secrets successfully – had known. Ron had told her that every day since New Year's Day, he had been trying to find the right way to propose, until he finally did it the Saturday that Harry moved into Grimmuald Place. This had somewhat surprised her; she would have thought that with such a huge surprise, Ron would have just told her when the pressure became too much, but as he had proved with this surprise and with the ring, Ron was much more capable at keeping secrets from her than she had thought.

"How about I show you?" Ron asked, and Hermione's eyes widened. This was it. She had been waiting for this for six months, and now she was finally going to find out what Ron had been saving up for since he had started working. Hermione had a fleeting thought, and she narrowed her eyes.

"You didn't buy the Canons, did you?" she asked, because she knew this had been his ambition since he was twelve, and had said on several occasions that when he had the money, he would buy the team and replace them with good players. She had told herself after several unsuccessful guessing games that whatever it was, it _had _to be good, that of course she wasn't going to be disappointed, though she knew she'd be angry if the surprise was the Canon's after all. His love for his Quidditch team could only go so far, though Hermione had learned yesterday that these boundaries stretched pretty far when he had suggested last night at dinner that they get married on the Canons' Quidditch pitch. (Her answer had been, unsurprisingly, a forceful 'no'.)

Ron laughed again. "_No_, I did not buy the Canon's, though I thought about it a few times this season," he said darkly, running his hand through his hair while he undoubtedly thought about their disastrous season, so that the long strands stood on end.

"Good, because we are _not_ getting married on a Quidditch pitch," Hermione said, repeating herself just to make sure he got the picture. Ron sighed but grinned.

"I know," he said. "But the same thing goes for you, you know. We're not getting married in a library," he said, grinning.

Hermione's mouth dropped open as she pretended to be angry. "I don't want to get married in a _library_!" she said, though now that she thought of it, it could be rather romantic. Ron with all those books…

"I thought," Ron said loudly, breaking into her fantasies, "We were going to see what my surprise was," and Hermione gasped, temporarily distracted by their discussion of where they were going to be married (_married!_).

"Yes!" she cried, and Ron put her down gently so that her feet touched the ground. Ron took her hand and they Disapparated, leaving their warm flat and spinning into crushing darkness.

When Hermione could breathe again, she opened her eyes, expectant. She was rather surprised to see that they were standing in the middle of a forest. Hermione turned around, taking in the surroundings, her brow furrowed in confusion. She wondered if this forest was one of the places they had come when they had searched for the Horcruxes, though that hardly made sense. Any good surprise could hardly be connected with that year. She looked up at Ron, confused, though received an even large jolt of shock when his face only mirrored her confusion.

"Where are we?" he asked softly, his hand still in hers as he looked around the landscape, as if searching for a sign that would show him the right answer. Hermione was taken aback, that was the question she was going to ask.

"You don't know where we are?" Hermione asked, her voice a bit higher due to the fact that nerves were starting to creep in. She wasn't very good with suspense, and this was torturing her. She turned her attention back to Ron, and caught the tail end of his sentence.

"…unless I Apparated wrong, but I didn't think I had…" Ron was muttering to himself, still looking between the trees.

"Do you mean that we're in the wrong place?" she asked, her voice cracking the silence. Hermione looked around. "Did you buy me trees?" she asked hesitantly half-joking, yet at the same time wondering if he was going to announce that he was tearing them all down and building a Quidditch stadium instead. She thought she might throw something at him if he did.

"This can't be right," Ron said slowly, squinting and peering through the rows of trees, and she didn't think he had heard her.

"Shall we Apparate back to the flat and then try again?" Hermione offered, her voice fast. She didn't think she could take the anticipation, and she did _not_ want to go trekking around in a forest trying to find his surprise. She had waited months for this, and now she wasn't sure if she'd be able to wait ten more minutes.

"Oh!" Ron said in sudden surprise, his eyes wide as his face flooded with recognition. "I know where we are! I just missed the target a bit, come on," he said, taking her hand again and leading her through the trees. She could feel her heart pounding uncomfortably in her chest, and in the silent woods, she thought that it might be the only sound around them.

They made their way out of the forest after ten minutes of walking around aimlessly. Hermione thought her heart might explode from beating too quickly. Ron kept on getting lost, and it was with chance and luck that they finally made it out of the trees. Hermione had leaves in her hair, and she would have been in a bad mood if she wasn't so anxious. Shaking her head to rid it of the bits of leaves and twigs that had lodged themselves there, she took in their new surroundings. However, this one gave no more answers that the forest. The woods opened onto a green hill with an unpaved road sneaking down it like a length of ribbon. Ron smiled, and Hermione turned to him.

"Are you _sure_ this is the right place?" she asked, looking up at Ron. From their position on the hill, she could barely see anything; though judging by the country landscape, she did not think there would be much for her to see. She could not see how this could possibly be where the surprise was. "Where are we?" she asked.

"We're close," Ron answered, squeezing her hand slightly as he looked down at her, his grin still splitting his face. Hermione smiled nervously, though she did not let this answer pass.

"But that doesn't answer my question!" she exclaimed, but Ron didn't seem to hear her. He pulled at her hand as they neared the top of the hill. From down below, she could see a small village nestled into the shadow of the hill. It was picturesque, the small buildings tucked into the valley, seemingly tiny between the two grassy hills. Hermione thought it looked dreamlike, or the result of a painter's imagination; the little village placed so perfectly. Hermione looked up at Ron, who was beginning to make his way down the hill.

"The surprise is down there?" she asked, though by this point she did not know why she bothered; Ron would never tell her exactly what the surprise was until he gave it to her. To her astonishment, he nodded, and she hastened to catch up to him; his legs were much longer and he was almost running, so she was practically dragging behind him.

When they reached the bottom of the hill, she recognized the place at once, though she realized that from a new angle, it looked different. It was the village of Ottery St. Catchpole, and Hermione knew that just over the next hill, on the side of the village opposite of where they had arrived, they would be at Ron's house. A few hills after that, and they'd be at Luna's.

"Ron, is the surprise at the Burrow?" she asked wondering why he hadn't Apparated home if the surprise was at his house, but he shook his head.

"No, it's here," he said, taking her hand as they walked into the village. It was a quaint little place, full of little markets and privately owned shops that you couldn't find in the city. Hermione knew from her textbooks from school that Ottery St. Catchpole was a place where many witches and wizards had congregated over the last few centuries, like Godric's Hollow. However, there were a few Muggles that lived here, so blatant magic had to be hidden. As they walked down the main road, Hermione spotted instances where magic had slipped through: a woman at the café was reading the _Daily Prophet_ while her daughter of about four took advantage of her mother's inattentiveness and was making the salt shakers dance on the table in front of them. Further down the road, three men dressed in heavy cloaks that did not fit the rather warm weather were huddled together, talking furtively. As they passed, Hermione overheard the line, "So now he's been hauled in front of the Wizengamot, because obviously, cows aren't supposed to make those sorts of sounds…" while the other two shook their heads and rolled their eyes with disbelief. Hermione looked around, fascinated by the village; she and Ron had been here a few times over the summer holidays, though she had never really looked through it properly. "We're close, we're really close," he said, and she could hear his voice quivering in excitement.

On the outskirts of the village was a knot of cottages. Hermione's heart began to beat – if possible – even quicker as she began to realize what the surprise might be, though she did not think too hard; she didn't want to be disappointed.

They walked past the line of cottages; each one small and quaint with ivy covered walls and brightly painted doors. Here too there were small signs of magic. Some houses, like the Burrow, seemed to have been added onto by magic, for gravity surely would have pulled down some of the more eccentric addition. Some cottages had gardens with flowers that could only be grown by magic; Hermione recognized them from the pictures in her Herbology textbook. A boy of about Hogwarts age and his mother were having a heated argument from the front lawn of their house. They were talking about – Hermione was sure – broomsticks.

"Honestly, Mum, I won't go that high, I promise. No one will notice, and I'll have time to touch back down if Mrs. Dillington peaks her head out like she did last time, that nosy old…"

"For the last time, you are not playing with that thing, and _don't_ use that language. You've had too many close calls already, and if I catch you in the air with that broom one more time I'll jinx you so that your ears turn…"

But Hermione did not get a chance to hear the end of the conversation; they had reached a cottage near the end of the lane, and Ron had stopped for the first time since they had Apparated here.

This cottage did not have any magical additions or cauldrons on the front stoop, but there was something inexplicably magical about it. Yet it was not a type of magic that could not be put into words or repeated. It was as though the house _breathed_, though she knew that wasn't the correct word exactly; there was a certain aspect of it that almost seemed to calm Hermione. There was something curiously homey about it, there was something about the sloping roof and bright blue front door and small rickety fence that separated the lane from the slightly overgrown garden that made Hermione smile with ease. She felt happy, she felt as if she belonged in that house. The magic of the place seemed to soak into her very being, so that she knew what Ron was going to say before he said it, though she asked all the same. Because she couldn't dare hope, she could not dare to believe…

"Who lives here?" she asked curiously, tearing her eyes from the house to Ron.

Ron, who had been so excited moments before, was now looking extremely nervous. Hermione knew that his insecurities were kicking in; he was worried she wouldn't like it, whatever it was. "We do," he said softly, and then his eyes darkened as her searched her face, his expression serious. "Well, we do if you _want_ to," he added.

Ginny was wrong, Hermione thought. There was a way to go back in a relationship. At any time, you could decide to go back, to step away. Even with this ring (_ring!_) on her finger, it was possible to go back. They could call everything off, wait until they were older. They could take a step back, look at everything from a different angle. But this house, it seemed different to her. You couldn't take a step back from a house. Their flat was nice, but it was different; every room was filled. There were no promises to break if they left the flat. A house was full of rooms, rooms that they could not fill right now. Rooms that one day they _could_ fill. She knew that if they stepped back after this, the empty rooms would haunt them, tease them of what they had in front of them. This house seemed like an extension of her ring. Here, she could not go back. And she didn't want to, not in a million years.

Hermione stared at him in a mixture of incredulity and happiness. "Y-you bought t-this?" she stuttered, so startled that she was not able to speak.

Ron nodded slowly, and Hermione breathed in sharply. Then, because she did not know what else she could possibly do to relieve half of what she felt, she shrieked and launched herself into his arms. She could hear Ron laughing weakly into her hair.

"So you like it?" he asked unnecessarily. She let go of him so that she could see his face and nodded happily.

"It's the best surprise ever," she whispered, and then she burst into tears. They were happy tears, of course, though she could not stop them as they fell thickly, dripping down her face and onto her shirt.

Ron looked proudly at the little cottage, as if he had built the little place himself. "Do you want to look inside?" he asked her, putting an arm around her waist and bringing her close to him. Hermione blinked tears out of her eyes and nodded happily, unable to speak. Ron unlatched the gate and held it open for her to walk in first. "It's good there's a gate," he said as Hermione crossed the threshold. "That way the dog won't get out."

Hermione turned to look at him. "The dog?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow and giving him a questioning look, which he missed as he re-latched the fence.

Ron turned to face her, nodding. "One, or two…maybe," he said, giving her a sheepish grin. "I always wanted a dog, but my parents said our house was mad and full as it was, and there was no room for a dog. I thought now that we live here… and there's room…" he trailed off, his ears growing warm. "And besides, it would be nice knowing there's a big dog here guarding you and keeping everything safe for the nights I work late," he added.

Hermione was so happy, Ron could have announced that what he'd really like was a pet boa constrictor and maybe a polar bear, and she would have agreed. He could have a whole pack of dogs if he wanted. "Okay," she said, grinning back at him. "But the dog can't eat the cat," she said, grinning wider at him.

Ron raised an eyebrow. "The cat?" he asked, in the same tone of voice she had used a few moments ago. Hermione nodded earnestly.

"Don't you want another Crookshanks?" she teased, taking his hand in hers as he took the step forward that separated them.

"No I bloody don't!" Ron exclaimed, and they walked up the small path that led to the house. The door was a perfect shade of blue, but the paint was weathered in spots, and in some places the wood showed. "It needs to be repainted," Ron noted as he fished in his pocket for the key. She liked that the door wasn't perfect, she liked that it was worn in places. It fit them.

"It's such a lovely color," Hermione nodded, tapping her foot impatiently as Ron looked for the misplaced key. After five minutes, she gave in and shot him a glare. "Come on! I want to see the house!" she cried, tugging at his hand.

Ron merely grinned. "Hold on, hold on, I'm trying to….aha! Here it is!" he shouted, taking out the key and holding it up in front of her. Excitedly, he jammed it into the doorknob and unlocked the door. "It's a pain we can't use magic, but the neighbor across the street is a Muggle," Ron explained, and Hermione remembered the boy complaining about the woman who caught him riding a broom.

The door opened into the sitting room, or what would be the sitting room once it had furniture in it. Hermione noted the window seat and nodded approvingly; any house with a window seat to read on was a perfect house in her book. Off of the sitting room was the kitchen, which had a beautiful view of the back garden and the hills in the background. From the kitchen they made their way into what would be the dining room. It had a beautiful brick fireplace, which they spent an inordinate amount of time discussing. Once they left the dining room they had explored the entire downstairs, so Ron took her hand and led her upstairs. There were two small bedrooms, each one with a pretty view of the hills. They did not linger in the empty little rooms because Ron wanted to see their bedroom, and he was getting a bit impatient.

Their timing was perfect; the sun was setting over the large bay windows in their bedroom, so that when they opened the door, the room was bathed in a rosy glow, casting purple shadows over the walls, the sky a burnished pink in the distance. The windows reflected a bright gold as the setting sun hit them, and Hermione wanted to cry again. It forcibly reminded her of Australia, the time when she and Ron had stayed up all night, and had gone swimming the next morning. It had been the first time they had said I love you. She liked that that was the memory she would first associate here.

"What do you think? Was it worth waiting six months for?" Ron asked, looking over at her. She had drifted away, dreamlike, as she looked around the bedroom. It was a beautiful, bright room was a view of both the hills and the little village behind them. Hermione turned to Ron, her arms crossed around her chest, as if this could stop her heart from pounding right out of her. He stood in the middle of the room while she stood by the window, his hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulders half raised in a very Ron way.

Hermione beamed. "Absolutely," she answered. "It was worth every day of those six months," she said, and Ron laughed.

"It was worth every stupid guessing game?" he asked. "It was worth every question you'd ask, the moment you thought I was half-awake, and would slip up?"

Hermione felt herself blush. "Yes," she said softly, crossing the room to him and hugging him tightly. She looked up and kissed him softly on the mouth. "Yes," she whispered, saying the word again.

They made their way down the stairs, the cottage now filling with dusky shadows as night fell around the valley. Ron was careful to lock the front door behind them as they left, and Hermione felt inexplicably sad, leaving the cottage behind. Ron had told her they could move in whenever they wanted; the place was theirs, and they had eagerly decided on this weekend. Still, Hermione couldn't help but look back as they closed the gate behind them, the windows glimmering slightly in the darkness.

"Hermione, is anyone looking?" he asked, glancing furtively around at the cottages, and the lights that were illuminated from within. Hermione raised an eyebrow at this question, but looked around obligingly.

"I don't think so," she said, after she inspected the cottages around them. Ron took out his wand from his pocket and tapped the mailbox, which stood near the door of the gate. Slowly, as if an invisible hand was writing on the side of the metal, letters began to appear on its blank surface. The two watched happily as the word "Weasley" was written in front of them.

…

_Author's Note: I talked with my sister (who is also a huge Harry Potter fan) and we both agreed that if Ron and Hermione settled somewhere, chances are it wouldn't be Godric's Hollow (my original idea) because Hermione would have such bad memories there, plus Ron wasn't in that part of book seven. We thought Ottery St. Catchpole would be a good idea because it's kind of cozy, plus it's a good distance away from the Burrow. I hope this is okay with you all. Please review if you can!_


	36. Sick Day

_Author's Note: Thank you, thank you, thank you for all of the reviews for 35! They were all so lovely! Sorry for the delay, this chapter was horrible to write! I've been working on it for the last two weeks, and I finally managed to get it out._

…

Chapter Thirty-Six –

"Hermione," Ron said conversationally from amongst the flower bushes, where he was pulling up weeds in their new garden. Hermione looked up from the patio chair, where she was lounging with a glass of lemonade reading a very thick and yellow-paged book. She raised a hand to her eyes to shield out the sun, which was cascading on him in the early afternoon.

"Yes?" she said, squinting to make his face out. The bright light made stars pop in front of her face, the words she had just been reading swimming across her line of vision.

"I was just thinking," Ron said, brushing dirt onto his jeans. Hermione knew that Ron did most of his deepest thinking in the garden. "When do you want to get married?"

Hermione was slightly taken aback; the question had been posed so casually it was as though he had been asking her what she would like to do later that day. She thought to herself, leaning back in her chair and lowering her hand from her brow. Ron stood up and sat down in the chair next to her, watching her carefully.

She closed her eyes, still thinking. "I don't know," she said quietly, aware even with her eyes closed that Ron was watching her closely. "In Autumn, I think. It would be pretty with the leaves changing and everything," she mused, her eyes fluttering open and looking at Ron, who was looking thoughtfully back at her.

"That would be nice," he said slowly. "The leaves orange, like the Cannons," he added, grinning and dodging just in time as she swatted playfully at his arm.

"Now you've ruined the image," she told him with mock-anger. "I've changed my mind, I want to get married in the middle of winter now. No orange," she said, grinning.

Ron laughed, but then his expression turned serious again. "Autumn would be nice. Early September, right before your birthday, because it's still pretty warm, but not hot or anything."

Hermione nodded; the moment he had said it, the idea had sounded perfect. "Well," she said, half-thinking to herself, "If we have it in September, that gives almost exactly a year and a half to plan," she said, glancing down at her book again as a warmth filled her up inside.

Ron looked surprised. "A year and a half?" he asked, startled.

Hermione looked up at him again, more surprised than he had been. "You didn't mean _this_ September, did you?" she asked incredulously. But this was Ron, she knew his answer even before he opened his mouth.

"Well," Ron said hesitantly, with an air of knowing that he was about to say the wrong thing, "Yeah."

Hermione's mouth dropped open in shock. "Ron," she said, trying very hard not to roll her eyes. "You can't plan a wedding in six and a bit months time!" she exclaimed.

Ron cocked an eyebrow, looking at her challengingly. "Why not?" he asked, and she knew that he was being completely serious. He was not being stupid on purpose; this was a genuine question to him.

Hermione sighed. "Because, there's so much planning that goes into a wedding, Ron!" she said disparagingly.

"Is there?" Ron asked intently. "All I need is you and a ring and someone to say 'you may now kiss the bride.' I'm pretty sure that won't take more than a few weeks," he said, a smile forming at the corners of his mouth. "Actually," he said mischievously. "Maybe not even someone to say that, since I think I'll do it even if there's no one to tell me to."

This time, Hermione really did roll her eyes. "There's more to a wedding than that! You need time to send out invitations, because guests need to be warned," she said, shooting him a look. "And there are flowers and venues and food and dresses and bridesmaids and seating charts and…" but she stopped short. Ron slid off his chair and knelt in front of her, clasping both of her hands in his and looking up at her earnestly.

"Hermione, I don't want all that, we don't need all that. I want you. That's all I've ever wanted. I don't give a damn about flowers and bands. All I want is to be able to come home and kiss you…as my wife. I want to marry you," he said, looking at her, his eyes deep and dark. Hermione almost shivered in their intensity.

"You're serious?" she asked weakly, looking down at his freckled face, certain that he had never been more serious about something in his life. Ron nodded, confirming this.

"Yes," he said, his voice cracking a little. Hermione jumped up from the chair, her book flying, her glass of lemonade tipping and spilling onto the chair. Ron lost his balance and fell backwards, sitting down hard on the patio and swearing, though Hermione hardly noticed any of this. Her brain had just gone into overdrive.

"Well, there's so much to do then," she said, half to herself. If they only had six months and a few days to plan, she would have to start now, this very minute. She looked down happily at Ron. They were getting married. They were getting _married_. In a bit more than six months, Ron would be her husband. She beamed down at him, and Ron returned it, slightly hesitantly. "Come one," she said, extending a hand down to him. He took it and stood up.

"What are we doing?" he asked, his eyes wide.

"If you want a wedding in six months, we're going to have to start planning everything. Right now," she told him, taking his hand and leading him back into the kitchen. Ron followed obediently, slightly bemused.

Rummaging in her bag for a quill and some parchment, Hermione felt her head spin. The idea of it was still so completely surreal to her. They had been engaged for two weeks, and now…now they were getting married. For anyone else it would have been fast, but Hermione liked the idea. Besides, they had been together for so long, it just seemed right.

She handed a roll of parchment to Ron and sat down at the kitchen table. Ron took her lead, sitting opposite her and then looking up expectantly. Hermione was irresistibly reminded of the countless times at school, where they would start their homework together, Hermione knowing exactly what to write, and Ron waiting for her guidance.

"What are we writing?" he asked, as Hermione dipped her quill in ink and looked down thoughtfully at the piece of paper in front of her.

"Guest lists," she told him. "That should be a main priority, because people will have to know," she said. "It's going to be small, of course, but that's fine. I never really fancied a huge wedding," she said, half to herself. Ron nodded.

"Me neither," he said. "And plus, this means we don't have to invite Auntie Muriel! I wasn't too keen on the idea of her coming anyway. I didn't want her narrating our entire wedding like she did Bill's," he said, laughing.

_Our wedding_, Hermione echoed in her head. It was real. It was all wonderfully, amazingly real. She wanted to jump up and down or scream, but there was work to do, so she refrained.

The next half hour was taken up by the guest list. Hermione was doing most of the work; Ron just sat idly in his chair, looking at his short list. Mainly, he was joking about people they should invite. If he wasn't so endearing, or if he didn't say things like "This is _so_ cool, we're getting _married_, Hermione," she would have strangled him.

"What about Lockheart?" Ron asked, balancing on the back two legs of his chair. "Should we invite him?"

"No," Hermione said pointedly, contemplating her list and scratching off a name here and there. Her tactic had been to write as many names as she could, and then slowly narrow down the list.

"Come on, if he comes he might give us a signed photograph as a wedding gift, and you've wanted that since you were about thirteen," Ron joked lightly.

"Funny," Hermione said dryly. "But seeing as he's in St. Mungo's right now, I don't think he's up to weddings, do you?" she asked, tearing her eyes away from her list and giving Ron an appraising look. He quelled under her glare, then recovered.

"Don't try and make me feel bad about it!" he exclaimed. "He was trying to remove my memory at the time, after all. If it had worked you probably wouldn't be sitting across from me right now, planning a wedding," he said.

Hermione sighed because she could find no holes in his argument. Instead she pointed at the practically clean sheet of parchment in front of him. "Work, Ron, or won't _be_ a wedding," she said forcefully.

Ron sighed dramatically. "Fine!" he said loudly, dipping his quill in ink and looking down at his piece of parchment. They lapsed into silence again, broken only by the sound of their quills scratching names into the paper.

"Hermione," Ron said again after ten minutes of silence. This time, Hermione indulged him and raised her eyes to look at him. She could tell by the tone of his voice that he was serious this time; whatever he was going to say wasn't going to be a joke.

"What is it?" she asked, trying not to sound annoyed.

Ron looked as though he was struggling with something. He was desperately trying not to look at her; she watched as his eyes swiveled around the bright kitchen, searching for something else to stare at. He decided on a cabinet behind her right shoulder. "Do you want to invite Viktor Krum?" he asked.

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. Whatever she had been expected, this had not been it. Up until a few seconds ago she had expected Ron to announce that under no circumstances would Viktor Krum be allowed within one hundred feet of their wedding. She thought he would go as far as to make sure that Viktor Krum was out of the country on the day of their wedding. She had known that his insecurities had persisted, and would persist. A ring on her finger would not change that, no matter how many times she would say "I do." And she knew that Ron was asking her this not because he wanted Viktor Krum to come, but because he wanted her to be happy. She knew that he would be willing to put aside all of his hatred, all of his doubts, if she said yes, she'd like to invite him. And for some reason, this touched her deeply. She felt tears well up in her eyes, despite of her efforts to hold them back. The fact that he had asked, the fact that he had built up the courage and asked her this, made her unbelievably happy.

She stood up from her chair and rushed around the table, hugging Ron tightly when she reached him and kissing him softly on the lips. "Oh, Ron," she whispered, smiling at him. He looked slightly taken aback, and she realized she had not answered him yet. "No," she said.

Ron looked even more taken aback. "No?" he asked. She did not pretend that she didn't see the look of relief wash over him and he didn't pretend that he didn't feel relieved.

Hermione remembered her conversation with Viktor in the café a few weeks after she had moved into the London flat with Ron. She had said goodbye to him there, they had parted ways. It would have been strange to invite him to their wedding. Of course, Ron did not know that she had met him that day, the day he had met Will in the library. She hadn't told him about it, and she didn't think she would.

"No," Hermione repeated.

Ron raised his eyebrows. "I would have thought you'd want to," he said, and he did not bother to hide the surprise in his voice.

Hermione shook her head, and then gave Ron a knowing look. "You would want him to come just so you could gloat, wouldn't you?" she asked, smiling at him. She perched herself in his lap, her arms around his neck.

Ron grinned sheepishly. "Maybe," he said, grinning at her. "You can't blame me, though. Wearing those awful maroon robes to the Yule Ball gave him an infinite amount of points against me."

Hermione laughed. "So those won't be making an appearance at the wedding, then?" she asked, smiling at him. Ron looked at her with a combination of horror and disgust.

"Absolutely not. Besides, I burned them," he told her matter-of-factly. She looked at him searchingly, trying to see if this was a joke or not. By the look in his face, she realized it wasn't.

"You burned them?" she repeated slowly, and Ron nodded.

"When the twins gave me a new pair, I burned them. Let's face it, they didn't exactly bring back happy memories, did they?" Hermione shook her head. Ron grinned happily at her. "Well, at least I got some points for me when I asked you to dance at Bill's wedding."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "I didn't think you two were keeping score. And you didn't ask me, you sort of just stated it."

Ron's mouth dropped open. "I did ask! I asked you to dance, I remember."

Hermione shook her head. "Saying 'come and dance' isn't exactly asking," she told him, and his ears turned red. She laughed and kissed him softly on the lips, telling him she didn't care, that it didn't matter now.

When she pulled away, Ron's ears weren't quite as red anymore. "Can we take a break from the lists? A day off isn't supposed to be for working, you know," he said, reaching up and tucking a curl of her hair that had escaped and gently placing it behind her ear.

Hermione smiled widely. "I know. And I still can't believe you talked me into that!" she said, feeling chills run down her spine as he traced the line of her jaw with the hand he had used to push back her hair.

Somehow – and she still did not quite know how – Ron had convinced her to take a day off of work, to call in and say she was sick. They had moved into their new house on Saturday, and while they were eating dinner, Ron had said, completely randomly: "let's not go into work on Monday." Of course Hermione had objected at once; they _had_ to go into work on Monday, you can't just _skip_ _work_! There would be so much she would miss and she couldn't get behind. Besides, there was nothing wrong with her, not going to work when she was perfectly healthy seemed close to a crime to her. But gradually, Ron had convinced her. They had just moved; it would be nice to take a day off and just relax in the home that was now theirs. Besides, Hermione had never taken a sick day since she had started working at the Ministry and they certainly would not hold it against her. They had both sent owls in to the Ministry Sunday afternoon, and Hermione, to ease her guilt, had sent a post script asking for her work to be sent to her on Monday evening. She didn't tell Ron that; he would have seen it as a contradiction to taking a day off. All of Sunday evening she had nervously glanced out the window, waiting for owls to come to tell them that they had to go in on Monday, that they had been caught pretending to be sick to get out of work. Ron had laughed when he noticed this and pulled her away from the living room window, assuring her that people did this all the time, that loads of people called in sick when they were really fine just to have a day to relax.

It _had_ been nice, taking the day off of work. Hermione had admitted this much to herself, though she didn't think she would tell Ron and have to put up with him saying "I told you so." They had both slept in late (Hermione woke up at nine, Ron at twelve thirty after being woken up by a bored Hermione) and had had lunch outside in the garden, admiring their new home and the hours of freedom they had. After lunch they had lounged around, talking occasionally and generally soaking up each other's happiness. At around three Ron had begun working in the garden, which had undoubtedly prompted his thoughts on the wedding. Hermione looked back down at him, still not quite believing that they were getting married. She wondered if he could read her mind at that moment, because he leaned forward and kissed her.

"What can I say? I'm a bad influence," Ron grinned, with a shrug. "Can we take a break from these lists and go into the village for a bit? We still haven't properly looked around. I haven't shown you all the best places."

Hermione stood up, shaking her head. "We can't," she said, making to go around the table back to her chair, but Ron grabbed her wrist, holding it loosely in his hand.

"Come on, please? You can take your list with you, if you'd like. We can sit at a café and you can make as many lists as you like," he said, pleadingly. His look, the way he begged her. Hermione felt her heart melt a little, and her resolve slipped. He knew how to get to her.

"Fine," she said with a sigh. "But I'm taking my list, and you're taking yours too!" she said firmly, grabbing the slip of parchment from across the table and handing Ron his. Ron rolled his eyes and stuffed the piece of paper into his pocket. They both knew he would not be working on it.

As they stepped out of the house, Ron making sure to lock the door behind them, Hermione realized how much she liked living out of the city. She hadn't realized how she missed living in a place where things were green and the air was clear and clean. They kept almost all of the windows open just for the sheer novelty of it; in the flat in London, they had kept all of the windows firmly shut no matter what the temperature was after Hermione's mother had given her a magazine article on air pollution in cities. Things were more relaxed in the village too; there wasn't the mad rush to get places, there was no traffic on the pavement or people pushing behind you. Hermione hadn't realized how much she disliked London until she had left. Now, she couldn't imagine living there again.

They had met their neighbors on Saturday afternoon, the day they had moved in. On their left was an old couple, the Yorks. They had been very kind, and had given the two of them a plant as a housewarming gift, which Hermione was sure she would successfully kill within the first week of living in the house. The two of them ran an antique shop in Diagon Alley whose storefront Hermione could remember passing by, though never entering. Mr. York told her that he had an impressive collection of antique books, which Hermione was very eager to look at. On their right was a middle-aged aged couple called the Martins, who had a son of about thirteen, the one Hermione had overheard talking about brooms with his mother on the day Ron showed her the house. The boy, whose name Hermione could never remember, didn't go to Hogwarts, but was taught at home by his father, a seedy looking man with thinning hair and thick glasses.

The village proper was almost empty; it was Monday afternoon and mostly everyone was at work. Ron directed Hermione to a small café near the center of the village, promising her that they had the best tea and scones he had ever tasted, which was saying something. While he went inside to order, Hermione found an empty table in the shade of a tree and pulled her list out again, contemplating the names she had written down in careful cursive.

It was extremely relaxing, sitting at the small rickety table as light filtered in through the leaves of the trees, the branches budding with the beginning of spring flowers. Hermione worked relentlessly on her guest list while Ron worked occasionally on his. They developed a sort of pattern; he would work for five minutes and then lose interest, at which point he would begin to stare aimlessly around the square. Hermione would sense his lack of productivity and catch him, pushing his arm or ordering him sharply to get back to work, which he would do for five minutes, and then they cycle would repeat.

"Harry's going to come after work, he hasn't been to the house yet," Ron said vaguely, cramming an entire scone into his mouth and looking up at Hermione. Hermione looked up from the table, her hand half-way in the air, frozen.

"But Ginny's coming over after practice," she said, her eyes wide. The two had not spoken or seen each other since their fight on New Year's Eve. Harry had been doing better now that he wasn't living off of their couch, though every time Hermione saw him he looked distinctly unhappy. Ginny wasn't faring much better; Hermione knew how much she disliked living at the Burrow and listening to Mrs. Weasley's pestering.

Ron looked as though he was thinking deeply; Hermione wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was. "Do we tell one of them not to come?" she asked, putting her quill down.

Ron bit his lip, running his pointer finger along the rim of his mug. "Maybe we shouldn't tell them the other is coming," he said slowly, looking up at her. Hermione could see the slight flash of guilt cross his face, and she shared it because the same idea was flickering in the back of her mind as well.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Trick them into seeing one another? That's not exactly fair, is it?" she mused, though she thought Ron might have a point. Unkind though it may be, both Harry and Ginny could be extraordinarily stubborn when they wanted to be, and she wasn't sure what it would take for Ginny to talk to Harry, or vice versa. Maybe this was what had to happen.

"Well," Ron said slowly, "Harry will get here about a half hour after Ginny so…"

"So one of them will be warned?" Hermione finished, challenging him. Ron flushed slightly, he knew that what they were doing wasn't right, exactly.

"What choice do we have?" he asked defensively, not quite looking at her. "If we're getting married in six months…"

"Which won't happen if you keep on distracting me and yourself," Hermione said pointedly, which Ron ignored.

"If we're getting married in six months," he repeated. "Do you really want the two of them not talking to one another at the wedding? It would be awful," he said.

Hermione sat back in her chair, thinking hard to herself. Ron watched her, taking another scone and putting the whole thing in his mouth.

"They're going to hate us for doing it," Hermione said quietly, looking down at her lap as she spoke. "They probably won't talk to us."

Ron considered this. "Maybe," he said slowly. "But it'll be worth it in the end, won't it?" he asked, looking hopefully at her for verification.

"You should send an owl to Harry," Hermione said thoughtfully, still looking down at her lap. "Tell him she'll be here too. That way he'll know too, it won't be a surprise for him. And if he doesn't want to see her, at least he'll have time to make an excuse to not come," she finished. Ron nodded in agreement.

"Fine," he said sighing, looking as though he was very reluctant to get up from their comfortable spot at the café where the sunlight warmed their backs and the breeze played at their parchment.

They brought their teacups back inside and made their way back up the lane, hand in hand, to the cottage, the afternoon sunlight beaming down on their backs. Ron went off to post a letter to Harry, telling him that Ginny would be there too, if he'd still like to come, and Hermione retired to what had become her favorite part of the house: the window seat in the living room. She brought the book she had been reading in the garden and drew her knees up to her chest, resting the book on her legs and enjoying how the sun poured over the pages.

…

At five thirty, Ginny knocked on the door and Hermione, who had been anxiously waiting for her for the last half hour, jumped up and answered almost before Ginny knocked.

"Hi," Hermione said breathlessly, knowing that she was doing a very bad job of looking relaxed. Ginny raised her eyebrows and gave Hermione a searching look.

"Hi," Ginny said slowly, her eyes narrowing at Hermione continued to look pointedly at the ground.

"We need to talk," Hermione said. She could hear Ron moving somewhere behind her. They had decided that Hermione would placate Ginny while Ron watched Harry. Ron had said that it was because it would be awkward for an older brother to do, but Hermione knew that it was really because Ron was just a little bit afraid of Ginny when the latter was angry.

"Ok-ay," Ginny said in that same slow, unsure voice. Hermione shut the door behind her so that the two girls were both standing on the doorstep. Hermione took a deep breath and looked Ginny right in the eyes. Ginny was hovering, slightly uncertainly, her broomstick held limply in her hand.

"Harry's going to be here in about a half hour," Hermione said. Opposite Ginny, her voice had become much faster than it normally was. "We want the two of you to talk things over. You both miss each other, and we know you're too stubborn to do it on your own so…" Hermione trailed off lamely, watching Ginny carefully.

Ginny seemed to go through every single emotion in a very short period of time. Hermione watched as her friend changed for surprised to angry to excited to nervous to angry all over again, waiting for her to settle on one emotion and finally talk. Hermione was bracing herself for a screaming match, or a slap in the face.

"Thank you," Ginny said. Hermione blinked uncertainly, wondering if she could have misheard.

"W-what?" Hermione asked, confused. Of all of the things she had expected Ginny to do, saying thank you was not high on her list. She did not think Ginny would be grateful for what she and Ron were doing. She expected her to be angry, or to leave; she did not expect Ginny to be thankful.

Ginny smiled, a good sign. "You're right; we've been miserable. Well, _I've_ been miserable I don't know how Harry's…" her voice faltered and died, and her eyes looked very bright for a moment, on the verge of tears before she shook her head and blinked, regaining her composure. "We _do_ need to talk. So thank you, for doing this," she finished, her voice sounding firm and determined.

"Oh," Hermione said faintly, still slightly wrong footed by the fact that Ginny had agreed to talk to Harry so readily. And then she realized how much Ginny missed Harry, how much she blamed herself for breaking things off, for making the wrong decision. Hermione eyed her friend, wondering if Ginny had been waiting for an opportunity, for an excuse to talk to Harry, ever since they had broken up on New Year's Eve. Hermione smiled slightly, and then led Ginny into the house. She heard Ron move from the kitchen.

"It's okay," she called to him, smiling wider. Ron poked his head out of the kitchen doorway, looking very relieved, his face pale. Ginny laughed at his expression.

"I'm not going to curse you for doing this," she told him, laughing a bit shakily. Hermione could tell that nerves were coursing through her veins; she was worried Harry might not take her back.

"I just got an owl back from Harry," Ron told the two of them, and from beside Hermione, Ginny stiffened slightly. "He's leaving work soon, and then he's going to come here," he said, addressing the piece of parchment in his hand.

"Oh," Ginny said, her eyes wide with anticipation. She looked very lost, standing in the middle of the small sitting room. Hermione took pity on her and directed her into a chair near the fireplace, then went to the kitchen to make some tea, where Ron was still standing in the doorway.

"I don't think we should be there," Hermione said to Ron. "You know, when they're talking."

Ron's eyes widened with shock. "I don't want to be there!" he said, and Hermione laughed, setting the kettle on the stove and tapping her wand to that a blue flame appeared under it. Hermione realized this was probably a very good thing, since Ron still did not know the entire reason why Harry and Ginny had split up, and she wanted to keep it that way.

There was a knock at the front door ten minutes later, accompanied by the sound of breaking china as Ginny dropped her teacup at the sound. Hermione, who had been sitting with Ginny and trying to ease her nerves, jumped up and answered the door. This job had been assigned to Ron, who had been hovering in the kitchen since Ginny arrived, clearly waiting for an explosion.

"Hi," Hermione said, opening the door to Harry, who was looking just as uneasy and nervous as Ginny.

"Hi," he said, his voice a bit higher than it normally was. His pose was quite Ron-like, it made Hermione want to laugh; his hands were shoved deep in his pockets and he was slouching.

"Come in," Hermione said, opening the door wider to let him through. "She's in the living room," she added helpfully, as Harry looked around dumbly. Hermione felt sorry for him; if Ginny looked nervous it was nothing compared to how Harry looked now.

The two walked into the living room. Ginny, who was sitting hunched over in the corner, jumped up at the sight of the two of them. Hermione did not know it if was instinct or emotion, but Harry took a step back at the sight of her. This did not go unnoticed by either Hermione or Ginny, the latter of whom looked close to tears at his sign of retreat.

The silence was crushing, more present than anyone in the room. Hermione couldn't breathe from it. Harry was staring at Ginny, challenging her to speak first, for this was all because of her. Ginny, it seemed, could not look him in the eye, and had resorted to looking at Hermione, who was standing next to him. This made Hermione nervous; she felt as if she needed to say something now. She looked around for Ron, who had made it out of the kitchen and was standing in the doorway. Hermione noticed he had taken his wand out, just in case.

"Well," Hermione said loudly, compensating for the complete lack of sound in the room. "Ron and I will be in the garden if you two…need anything," she said haltingly, and all but ran out of the living room and into the kitchen, where it was safe.

Ron held the back door open for her, and they sat down in the patio chairs, both slightly tense from the meeting they had just escaped from.

"Do you think they'll be alright?" Hermione asked worriedly, twisting around in her seat as if she could see them from here.

Ron nodded, though she knew he was faking confidence. "Yeah," he said, taking her hand in his. "If we can't hear them from here, then they're fine," he said, a grin flickering in the corners of his mouth.

Hermione sighed, but turned back, settling in her chair and squeezing Ron's hand. It seemed strange that earlier that morning they had been sitting in the garden and Ron had announced that they should get married in less than a year's time.

Ron looked over at her, and she knew, without understanding how she knew, that he was thinking the exact same thing. She loved how they could do this, how they could be so completely connected.

"Some sick day, eh?" Ron asked, grinning at her.

…

_Author's Note: Ugh, I don't ever want to see this chapter ever again! It was so, so hard to write and I don't like the final version but I wanted to give you guys something to read._

_Are there any requests for chapter 37? I was thinking of doing a fight, because they really haven't had one of those…please tell me your suggestions, and if I use it they chapter is dedicated to you! : )_


	37. Duvet Dresses and Doubts

_Author's Note: Hi…remember me? I've been writing a story about Ron and Hermione…? No you don't remember?_

_I'm so, so, so sorry that I haven't updated in such a long, long time. Whoever said junior year was hard hadn't been a senior yet! But enough whining…here's a new chapter for all the lovely people who have the patients to keep on reading my patchy updates. I tried to make it a long one to make up for the fact that I haven't posted in a while!_

_Enjoy!_

_..._

Chapter Thirty-Seven –

Hermione woke suddenly as something fell to the floor, emitting a very loud and echoing crash. The sound was followed by a couple of swears and a muttered oath. Hermione sat up in bed, disoriented, looking blindly into the darkness for the source of the noise. She cautiously moved her hand over to the bedside table, where she knew her wand was lying. Her fingers finally located the thin piece of wood; she muttered the familiar spell under her breath, and the room was flooded with the ethereal light of her wand. She pointed it around the room, into the dark corners and crevices of the bedroom, her heart beating wildly; she was certain that any moment now an intruder would come in, bringing her back to those years where they weren't safe.

The sound, it appeared, had not come from the bedroom at all. The room, aside from her, was completely empty. She turned to the place where Ron slept; the blankets had been haphazardly pushed aside, his pillow still dented from where he had been sleeping moments before. She leaned forward so that the door of the bathroom was now in view. There was a thin strip of silver light emitting from the crack under the door. She heard Ron drop something again.

Hermione turned to the clock and received a dull blow of shock; it was only three thirty in the morning. Setting her wand back down on the bedside table, she pulled the blankets around her and padded softly out of bed, shivering slightly. It was spring, but the mornings were still cold; if you called three thirty the morning.

She knocked softly on the bathroom door, and Ron opened it. Hermione blinked into the light, a contrast to the comfortable darkness. Ron was halfway between asleep and awake; his hair was sticking up on all sides, and although he was wearing trousers, he was still wearing the shirt he had slept in.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice a bit hoarse. She moved fully into the bathroom, sitting down on the ledge of the tub and watching Ron rummaging around for a brush. "It's in the third drawer on the right," she added.

Ron grinned appreciatively at her, but then the smile faded. "I'm sorry I woke you up; I tripped over my shoes on the way in here," he said, his ears turning red.

Hermione smiled slightly, "Well, there's a reason I keep telling you to leave them by the door and not wherever you kick them off," she said, marveling at her ability to nag him even before the sun had risen.

Ron laughed, then crossed the room and kissed the top of her head. "You're right, of course," he said. He sat down on the ledge of the tub next to her.

"Are you going somewhere?" she asked, resting her head on shoulder because she already knew the answer. She did not look up at him, but rather, she could sense that he nodded. Being a first year Auror, he and Harry got the most inconvenient shifts, or were called on projects at an hour that no one higher up in the department wanted to wake up for.

"I won't be gone long though," he said from above her head. "Probably only dinner time," he added, and Hermione nodded too. Maybe she would go to the Burrow tonight and see everyone; she hated eating alone.

"When are you leaving?" she asked, tilting her head to look up at him. He kissed the tip of her nose before he looked down at his watch to answer.

"Five minutes ago," he groaned, getting off the ledge of the tub and scrambling around for the rest of his things. He pulled his shirt over his head, getting tangled up as he tried to simultaneously tie his shoes. Hermione giggled and got up, taking pity on him and helping him. Not that she minded, of course.

"What would I do without you?" Ron said, sighing, looking down at her and grinning happily. Hermione laughed.

"You'd go into work with your shoes on the wrong feet and your shirt on backward, but you'd be there on time," she said jokingly, rising on her toes and kissing him on the cheek. He wrapped his arms around her so that she couldn't move away, his lips finding hers and kissing her gently.

"You're going to be late," she murmured softly, not quite managing to sound like she cared.

"I'm already late," Ron said, shrugging. "And besides, this is a special occasion and all. Seeing you in a wedding dress."

Hermione took a step back from him, giving him an appraising look and then glancing down at the white duvet she had wrapped around herself to keep warm. "It's the blanket from our bed," she pointed out to him.

Ron shrugged. "Well, you look beautiful in it to me. It _could_ be your wedding dress."

Hermione received the familiar feeling she got whenever he gave her a compliment like that; her toes felt warm and her hands shook slightly. "You are clearly aiming to flatter me," she told him sternly, though she couldn't keep the wide smile off her face.

Ron grinned, bringing her in close and kissing her. She hated that he had to leave now, that they couldn't just go back to bed and she could tell him how much what he had said meant to her. But then she was pulling away, grabbing his wrist to look at his watch. "You're really late now," she told him. Ron groaned but couldn't help but agree.

Hermione followed him to the living room, where he threw the green powder they kept on the mantel into the fire, turning the orange flames a shocking shade of emerald. He hesitated for a moment, turning to Hermione, who was all wrapped up in the blanket, leaning against the arm of the sofa and watching him leave.

He kissed her again, his lips lingering on hers. "I love you," he whispered in her ear, and she had to physically restrain herself from jumping into his arms.

"I love you too," she whispered back, readjusting the blanket, which had slipped off her shoulder. They both knew he couldn't drag it out any more, and Ron walked to the fire, stepped in, and disappeared. The green flames died, and Hermione was left alone in the middle of the living room, the sun just starting to float above the green hills in the distance.

There was no point going back to bed now; she would have to get up in a few hours anyway, and her heart was still racing from Ron's comment about the wedding dress. She'd never calm down enough to sleep. So she made her way back into the bedroom, shedding the blanket and putting on a sweatshirt of Ron's instead. It fell to her knees, and Hermione smiled as she looked at herself. She thought she looked ridiculous…Ron would love it.

Turning on the lamp by her bed, she brought the blankets around her legs and propped open a book about centaur regulations, finding her carefully marked place in the middle of the page. She had a meeting at the end of next week, and she had been preparing for days, though her revising was constantly ruined by either wedding plans (which she secretly didn't mind) or Ron (which she secretly didn't mind even more). Though they were both good distractions, she still had one hundred pages to read by the meeting next Thursday, and that seemed almost like procrastination to her.

At six o' clock, the sun had fully risen and the pale morning light was peeking through the curtains of the bedroom. Marking her place again – though this time it was much closer to the end – she put the book aside and started to get ready for work. She would be early, she knew, but it looked like it would be a nice day; she'd walk around and get a coffee before going in.

She Apparated into a dark alley in London, a place which couldn't be seen by passersby on the pavement and was often used by witches and wizards. There was a café down the street that made coffee just bearable enough to drink.

Stepping out onto the pavement, she was buffeted by the stream of early risers starting their day early. The café was a small, run-down place that was usually frequented by glasses-clad writers and old men with the day's newspaper. On one of the café was a nail salon which perpetually soaked the air around it with fumes, and on the other was a pet store. Usually Hermione didn't pay much attention to either of these, but this morning, something caught her eye.

In the window of the pet store was a small puppy, curled up and seemingly asleep. Hermione paused, causing several people walking on the pavement behind her to mutter angrily and push past her. Before she could fully think about what she was doing, she pushed open the door to the shop, a small bell announcing her arrival.

The shop was, predictably, empty. Not many people shop for pets at seven in the morning. The sales assistant, who was standing behind the counter and examining her split ends, jumped up at the sound of Hermione's arrival and hurried to her side.

"Hi! How can I help you this morning?" she asked brightly, all traces of boredom left behind. Hermione was slightly disconcerted.

"I was just looking at that dog there," Hermione said, pointing to the window. "It's a Jack Russel terrier, right?" she asked. She recognized the breed from their days in the Room of Requirement, where its silvery likeness would snap at the paws of her otter.

The sales girl nodded eagerly. "Yes, would you like to hold him?" she asked, already moving to the window display and opening the door. She placed the sleeping puppy in Hermione's arms before Hermione could get an answer out. She had never considered herself a dog person; the only pet she'd had was a cat, though she wouldn't have considered herself a cat person either (Ron would have argued that Crookshanks didn't even count as a cat). The puppy woke up, looking up at her happily, his tail wagging. He scrambled in her arms so that his face was close to hers, and then he licked her nose. Hermione gasped in surprise and the sales girl laughed.

"He likes you!" she exclaimed, relieving Hermione of the energetic puppy and cradling him in his arms.

"What's his name?" Hermione asked, scratching the top of the dog's head absentmindedly.

"Puck," the sales girl answered, looking down at the dog. Hermione stopped, her hand suspended in midair.

"From _A Midsummer Night's Dream_?" she asked, surprised.

The sales girl nodded, smiling. "You know your Shakespeare," she said, laughing. Hermione smiled wryly; it was not a coincidence that she knew the names of Shakespeare.

"I think it's fate," she said, smiling at the little puppy. Ron had surprised her with a house; the least she could do was surprise Ron with the dog he had been wanting for more than half his life. She smiled to herself as she pictured Ron's face when he came home tonight, and Puck greeted him at the door. "I have to go to work," she told the sales girl. "Can I come back at the end of the day?" she asked, and the girl nodded enthusiastically.

Hermione passed through the motions of her day in a daze. All she could see when she sat down to work was Ron's expression when he saw Puck. She only had to keep her surprise a secret for a few hours; she had no idea how Ron could have done it for months.

At five thirty, Hermione all but flew out of the office and down to the pet store to take Puck home. Twenty minutes later, she was lifting Puck out of the box from the store and setting him gently on the carpet in the living room. Pig, who had been resting in his cage woke up at the sound of the new dog and began rustling his feathers. Hermione scribbled a note and attached it to Pig's leg, directing the owl to the window, which was complicated because Pig was eagerly trying to meet Puck.

Ginny was at the door before Pig could even return from his journey to her. Hermione opened the door, one arm firmly around Puck so that he couldn't run out. Ginny squealed at the puppy, taking him out of Hermione's arms before she fully made it through the door.

"Ron's going to _love_ him!" Ginny exclaimed, and Hermione smiled happily. It was just the reaction she wanted to receive. Puck seemed to love the attention too; he had jumped out of Ginny's arms and was running in circles around the two of them, his tail wagging emphatically.

The two walked to the living room, Puck still running circles around their heels. Ginny sat down heavily on the sofa, scooping the puppy into her lap. Puck wriggled half heartedly, and Hermione watched, laughing.

"I was just going to send you an owl," Ginny said, looking up at Hermione. "Harry and I were supposed to have dinner at my place, but he's working so I figured Ron would be working and you'd want some company."

Hermione nodded. Harry and Ginny had decided to do the only thing that seemed left to do: they started at the beginning. They were dating. Ginny had moved out of the Burrow a few days after their conversation and had begun renting a flat near the Harpies' practice pitch. Harry came over sometimes, but he didn't have his things there, and she didn't have her things at Grimmuald Place. They didn't see each other every night; usually just weekends and once or twice during the week. And Hermione suspected that Ron was right for once in that they were holding hands and kissing. They were going slowly, which is what they both, apparently, agreed they needed.

Hermione made dinner while Ginny sat on the floor of the living room and played with Puck. She offered to help in the kitchen several times, but Hermione gently put her down; having Ginny in the kitchen was more of a hindrance than a help.

They couldn't eat at the kitchen table because it was currently papered with dozens and dozens of lists, all practically black with Hermione's incessant wedding lists. Here and there one could find a few lines of Ron's scribbling, but they were few and far between. Instead, they sat on the sofa, Puck trying vainly to jump up and reach their plates, which they held high above their heads.

Ginny left reluctantly at about ten, kissing the top of Puck's head and giving Hermione a hug goodbye. Hermione sat in the living room with a book, waiting for Ron, who had told her that he would be home hours before now. She wasn't worried; his talent for predicting when he would be home was very poor. If he said he'd be back at nine, it wasn't unusual for him to walk through the door at midnight.

By midnight, however, Hermione's eyelids were growing heavy; she had been up since three thirty after all, and it had been a long day. Puck showed no signs of fatigue, but Hermione scooped him up anyway, carrying him into the bathroom and placing him gently in the bathtub where he couldn't escape and where she could keep an eye on him.

She had a box with a few old editions of the _Daily Prophet _placed in the corner of the room, and she set Puck gently down, rubbing the top of his head affectionately. She had planned on letting him sleep there, but when she took a step back to make sure that he was alright, he gave her a look of such a deep melancholy that she took pity on him and took him out of the box.

"You're not sleeping on the bed," she told him sternly, placing him on the rug next to her side of the bed and crawling in. She peeked over the edge and saw Puck sitting there, giving her that same pathetic look. If he were human, he might have burst into abandoned tears.

"Fine," she sighed, giving up and reaching over the side of the bed and putting him on the blanket next to her. Puck wagged his tail happily and curled up next to her. Hermione smiled slightly before falling asleep. Her last thought before drifting off was that she should stay up for Ron, so that she could see his face when he saw Puck.

For the second time in two nights, she woke up suddenly to a loud, foreign noise echoing through the darkness. Puck blinked sleepily from beside her, growling half-heartedly, his tail between his legs. Hermione scooped the puppy into her arms and opened the door to the bedroom cautiously, Puck in one hand and her wand in the other.

The living room was completely dark, but Hermione could tell by the light of the moon coming in through the curtains that there was someone sitting on the sofa. Her heart beating abnormally fast, she pointed her lit wand at the object, and the beam of light fell on…Ron.

"Oh," she said shakily, relaxing visibly to see him sitting there. She thought she should yell at him for making her think that there was an intruder in the house for the second night in a row. "You scared me, I thought there was some – " but her voice died in her throat, because she could tell the instant she started talking that there was something very, very wrong.

The last time she had seen Ron looking so miserable, he had been sitting next to her at Fred's funeral. Every angle in his lanky body was pointed down at the floor. He was holding the bottle of Firewhisky they kept under the kitchen sink for extreme emergencies (like a particular bad Cannon loss.) The last time Hermione remembered seeing the bottle, only a third of the liquid was gone. Now, there was only a thin line of the drink rimming the bottom of the bottle. Ron's face was ashen and his eyes were hollow, his hair standing out on a white, blanched face. But what scared Hermione most was that he was refusing to look at her.

"What ha-happened?" she asked, her voice rising and falling unnaturally, the tone so strange that even Puck squirmed in her arms.

Ron said nothing, but tipped the rest of the Firwhiskey into his mouth and placed the bottle shakily on the coffee table. He was looking at his feet now; Hermione wondered if he had even heard her.

"Ron," she said, her voice strangely loud. She placed Puck on the floor and hastened to the sofa, sitting down next to him and taking his hand in hers. She squeezed it tightly, but he didn't return the pressure. "What happened?" she asked again, looking determinedly at his profile as he continued to refuse to look at her. She felt more afraid now then she had when she had thought someone had broken into the house.

"_Ron_," she said again, this time more forcefully; some of the fear was gone. Something told her that if anyone had been seriously injured, he would have said so by now.

"I don't think we should get married," Ron said, his voice hoarse and low, cracking and almost nonexistent. Hermione wondered if she had imagined it, but she knew she hadn't because he was looking at her now, his eyes blank as they stared slightly unfocused at her. She dropped his hand at once and stood up, the world spinning around her.

"What?" she said, fear turning into anger with such a disconcerting speed that she felt sick for a moment and almost had to sit down again. Ron looked up at her, and his expression told her that this was the reaction he had been dreading. For some reason, this only made her angrier.

"Listen," he said, with what seemed to be an attempt at a complacent tone. "It's not that…it's not that I don't want to," he said, standing up as well.

"Oh," Hermione said, adopting the familiar and horribly bitter sarcastic tone she affected when she wanted to hurt him the most. She turned away from him, she couldn't look at him anymore. In her mind she was going over every second of the last few months, trying to find an answer, anything to explain this.

"I want to…but…" Ron said, running his hand through his hair and looking torn. "I can't do it to you," he said nonsensically.

Hermione turned on her heel to face him; she was debating whether to sob or scream, and in her confusion she forgot that she wasn't looking at him anymore. "You better start explaining," she told him harshly, every note of her voice falling thick and flat.

Ron sat back down again, and Puck flitted anxiously at his heels, though Ron didn't seem to notice. Hermione's mind quickly rewinded to her idea of surprising Ron with him. Those two people seemed so different than the ones who were standing in the shadowed living room right now.

"The…mission…that Harry and I went on today. It was this man, he wasn't a Death Eater, but he…I think he wanted to be, he just never had the guts to commit to anything. There are a lot of them around now, they escaped Azkaban, so now they're thinking that now's a good time to start carrying out what they wanted to do before," Ron rambled, though Hermione could just work out what he was saying. "Anyway, they do mainly small crimes; vandalism, occasionally blackmail. They're all cowards, they do something and then they hide. But this one guy, he started getting a bit brave and went after an Auror's wife because she was Muggleborn. His office is a few rows from mine, his name's Brighton, he was a few years ahead of us at Hogwarts. He just got married last June," Ron said, and his voice was getting smaller and smaller with every word. "He started following her…Brighton's wife… sending her nasty letters. That's what we were doing today, trying to track down the bastard."

Hermione sat down next to him on the sofa, empathy for the woman overwhelming her anger for Ron. "Did you catch him?" she asked quietly, though she knew the answer before the question was fully out of her mouth.

Ron shook his head miserably. "We got close but he…he got away," he said, hanging his head, obscuring his face from her. "Don't you see, Hermione?" he asked weakly. "We can't get married because what if something like that happens to you?" he asked.

Hermione blinked, thinking hard. "It _won't_ happen to me," she said bravely, though in her mind she knew this was a lie. What had happened to that Auror's wife could easily happen to her.

"You don't know that," Ron retorted, as Hermione feared he would. And now she had nothing to counter him. "You don't know that us being married won't make you a target, won't make people like that man want to hurt you. I can't do that to you," he mumbled, looking at his legs again.

"And what about me?" Hermione asked; her voice, opposite Ron's, was getting stronger. "What about all of the things I'm doing to save House Elves? Have you ever thought that some people might not like that, and do something to you because they know I'd stop whatever I was doing to help you? Have you ever thought of that?" she asked.

Ron's ears turned slightly red in the dim light. "No, but…" he muttered.

"But what?" Hermione asked sharply, her blood pounding because she knew what was coming next. They had been arguing over this for _years_. "You think I'm at more of a risk because I'm a _girl_, I suppose."

Ron was silent for a fraction of a second, but it seemed much longer to Hermione. Then he stood up, running his hand through his hair, looking wildly around the living room as if an answer was stored high on the bookshelf along with the dusty textbooks Hermione couldn't bear to part with. "Look," he said, his voice firmer now. "I didn't want you to be angry! I didn't want you to think I was doing this because I didn't think you were strong enough to fight them off. Because I _do_ think you're strong and I think you could stand up to _anything_ anyone threw at you, and it has _nothing_ to do with the fact that you're a girl!" Ron said, and Hermione was surprised to hear that he was practically shouting. "But that's not the point! The point was that all day when we were hiding out, waiting for that bastard to show up, all I could think about was _you_. I thought that we could be like them. And I don't want that; we spent years fighting so that we would never be in danger again. And getting married…that might put you in danger," Ron finished, his voice quiet and defeated again.

For the first time that night, it was Hermione who did not know what to say, who hung her head in shame. She had overreacted, thinking that she couldn't stand up for herself. She had been foolish; of course that wasn't the answer. What the actual answer was, well, it was much deeper and much harder than she had thought. And she didn't have an answer.

"So what do we do?" she asked, fearing the sound that came out of her mouth. She wasn't fighting, she was giving up to this. And she didn't know why. Her face was wet with tears, though she didn't know when she had started crying. She didn't know if she'd stop.

"I don't know," Ron said. Hermione wasn't looking at him, but she could tell, because she knew him better than anyone else in the world, that he was crying too.

"Do I give this back to you?" she asked brokenly, taking the ring from her left hand and holding it out to him. It shimmered in the darkness, somehow finding a tiny bit of light in the unlit living room and glimmering with it. Ron took it without looking at her. For some reason, this made her angry.

It wasn't supposed to end like this. They were getting married in a matter of months; earlier than Hermione had imagined at first, but she didn't care. She had known – for quite a long time – that they would always end up together. She did not know when their futures had been written, but at some point in their lives, they had realized that they had always belonged together. And although they had adamantly ignored this for longer than everyone around them had hoped, eventually they had realized this. But now…now Hermione didn't know what to do. The future, the one that Ginny had fought against, the one that Hermione wanted, was now empty. In one evening Ron had taken it from her, and she was angry.

She walked to the kitchen, taking two handfuls of lists that littered the table. "And these?" she said, her voice echoing through the silence. "Do I give these back to you as well?" she asked, throwing the lists in his direction. They did not travel far but fluttered to the ground, slowly, slowly falling. Hermione felt like she was falling too.

She walked to the bookcase next, locating books that Ron had given her for birthdays and Christmases and, recently, just because he had been walking by a bookstore. "What about these?" she cried. "Do you want these back too?" She threw the books to the ground as well, where they fell with hollow bangs. Hermione had never done that to a book.

She realized she was wearing the sweatshirt of his that she had put on this morning. She tore it off her body. "And this as well!" she screamed, throwing the sweatshirt to the ground.

"Hermione," Ron whispered, but Hermione didn't want to hear him, she did not want to hear the voice that had wrecked her life. She stormed into the bedroom, blindly searching for anything of hers that he had given her. She sensed that he was following her, but she did not turn to check.

"What about this?" she shouted, holding the perfume bottle he had given her for Christmas the year that his father had been hurt in the Department of Mysteries. It smelled terrible, she had never worn it, but the symbol of it was far more important. He had given her _perfume_, a gift that actually meant something. It wasn't a book, something anyone could give her. It was in that moment that she knew he liked her, she had known it as a solid fact. She had always kept it with her, no matter where she was. The year they had spent in the tent the bottle had rested in the bottom of her beaded bag protected by a Cushioning Charm, though Ron never knew it was there. Now, she kept in on her bedside table so that it was always in view.

"Don't," Ron said quietly, knowing what she was about to do before she did it. But she let the tiny bottle slip from her fingers. It seemed to take longer than the lists had done to fall to the ground. They watched as it hit the floor, the glass smashing into tiny pieces, the horrible odor of the perfume permeating the air.

And there it was. Lying smashed on the floor in front of them; everything they had worked for was gone, broken, destroyed. In one fraction of a second, one sentence, one slip of her fingers, and everything was broken. The bed was behind her and she sat down, feeling the dark room spinning around her. Burying her face in her hands she cried. She didn't know if Ron was there or if he had gone. But then she felt someone sit down on the bed next to her. He was here. She felt strange; she felt indifferent to his presence.

The silence stretched on between them, the darkness moving in kindly and filling the space that separated them. She had never felt so far away from Ron. She did not know what she was waiting for. She was waiting for him to apologize. She was waiting for him to say how stupid he had been. She was waiting for him to say he didn't mean it, he didn't mean any of it. She was waiting for him to fix everything that he had just broken. And what scared her more than anything was the idea that maybe those things wouldn't happen. What if – for the first time in their lives – they had taken things too far?

"You were right, that perfume smells _awful_," Ron said finally, his voice pushing the darkness and the silence aside. Hermione took her face out of her hands and looked at him. She knew her face must be red and her eyes terribly glassy, but she didn't care. She wanted to look right at him and she wanted him to look right back. And he did.

"I didn't say it was _awful_, I said it was _unusual_," she said quietly, her voice hardly above a whisper.

"Which is just a nice word for disgusting," Ron said, bringing a hand to his nose to block out the smell. At another point in time, Hermione would have laughed. But she didn't right now.

"What do we do now?" Hermione asked, her voice trembling. She appreciated that Ron had broken the silence, but they couldn't go on pretending forever. They had a houseful of recently broken objects that proved this.

"I _do_ want to get married," Ron said quietly, looking down at his hands again. She followed his eyes and saw that he was twirling the ring around in his fingers.

"Then why did you say that you didn't?" Hermione asked, anguished.

Ron sighed, almost inaudibly. "Because today I realized that just because the war is over doesn't mean that we'll be safe forever. Just because there aren't Death Eaters walking about doesn't mean that everyone can just relax. There are still things out there that can hurt you. And I was so stupid for thinking for such a long time that there weren't. I suppose that today, because it was so close to something that could have happened to you, I just…I got scared," Ron said, his voice small again. Hermione moved closer to him and put her hand in his. This time, he returned the pressure.

"You should have just told me," Hermione said, "You shouldn't have sat there brooding and drinking, and then when I found you say bluntly that you don't want to get married." Hermione said, trying not to sound as though she were scolding him.

Something like a shadow passed across Ron's face, but it left before she could fully see it. "But it doesn't change the fact that bad things can still happen, and us getting married only make them more likely to happen."

Hermione squeezed his hand even harder. "Ron, bad things can _always_ happen. You can't put your whole life on hold waiting for a time when everything will be perfect and there isn't one bad person in the entire world…you'll be waiting forever," she told him gently.

Ron nodded. "You're right. I was being stupid," he said apologetically.

She hated when he put himself down. "You weren't being stupid," she said sternly. "I know you want to think that nothing can hurt us anymore," she started.

"Nothing can hurt _you_ anymore," Ron corrected her adamantly. Hermione tried hard not to roll her eyes.

"Fine. Nothing can hurt me anymore. But there will always be things out there," she told him gently.

"I know," he said softly. "But that doesn't stop me from wanting to track down as many bad people as I can. Because I might not be able to catch them all, but if I can make you just a bit safer, then…" his voice trailed off, but Hermione didn't ask him to continue. She knew that he meant. He took his hand away from hers and looked at the ring that was in his other hand. "I should be giving this back to you now," he said, half to himself. This time, the ghost of a smile on his face lasted a bit longer.

"Mind you do it properly," she told him, a small smile escaping from the corners of her mouth.

Ron got off the bed and knelt in front of her. The knee on the ground was directly in the spreading puddle of the terrible perfume. Hermione wondered if he had done it on purpose. "Hermione," he said, holding out the ring in front of her, and despite herself she had tears in her eyes. "Will you marry me…er, again?" he asked uncertainly, and Hermione covered her mouth to keep from laughing.

"Yes," she said, and a grin spread over her face. "But," she said suddenly, and Ron froze, his eyes wide. "You can't do anything noble like that ever again, because next time I won't say yes," she told him, raising her eyebrows at his expectant expression. Ron grinned.

"I promise," he said, slipping the ring back on her finger. She hadn't realized until she had taken it off how strange it felt to not have it there. Ron stood up and she got off the bed as well, hugging him tightly. Puck, who had been dancing around uncertainly for the last hour, decided that he had gone too long without getting any attention and nipped at Ron's ankle. The two broke apart, Ron staring down at the puppy who he had apparently only just noticed.

"Who's that?" he asked, looking down wide-eyed at the puppy who was sitting at his feet, tail wagging wildly.

Hermione smiled. "This is Puck," she said. Ron looked at her, bewildered. "Surprise," she added quietly, smiling wider.

And Ron's face was exactly how she had imagined it would be.

...

_Author's Note: I really hope this was worth the wait! If it means anything to you all, I've had this idea stuck in my head since I wrote the last chapter, and I haven't had time to write it. Please review if you can, and I will try as hard as I can to update sooner!_


	38. Honeymoons and Christmas Holidays

_Author's Note: It seems as though I start an awful lot of Author's Notes with an apology, but I always seem to need to give them out! But school has been crazy, crazy, crazy, and college applications were pretty much my life until about a week ago. I had to prioritize everything, so – sadly – this came last. But with my applications done and first term of senior year done I can (hopefully!) get back to writing. Anyway, enjoy the chapter!_Chapter Thirty-Eight –

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Hermione felt as though she had gone to bed one night in early summer, and when she had awoken the summer had ended. The days were flying past her so quickly she hardly bothered to look at a calendar anymore. With all of the plans for the wedding, the hours in every day seemed to get shorter and shorter. She was reminded of the panicking time before exams every spring, which was a horrible image because she really didn't want to think of _exams_ when she thought of the wedding. It was late August already, and the wedding was in three weeks. As close as it was, there still seemed to be so much to do, which was another reason why she was now avoiding calendars.

On Saturday, she and Ron had gone to the Burrow for dinner; partially because Molly wanted a finalized list of the guests, and partially because they were both so exhausted from rushing about planning the wedding (well, Hermione was at least) that the two of them hadn't had a decent meal in days. When Hermione wasn't working she was making wedding plans, which hardly left any time for making food, and Ron couldn't be trusted in the kitchen anyway.

The dinner had gone surprisingly well; Hermione had assumed that with the date coming so quickly, the meal was bound to be tense and full of anxious energy. Instead, Molly simply reassured her that everything was under control, and the wedding was perfectly organized, considering the fact that they had planned it in merely a few months time. She told Hermione to relax a little or she'd make herself sick, which was not how she wanted to feel come early September.

Which was why the next day found Hermione sitting in a patio chair in the garden reading a magazine. She usually did neither of these things; but she had taken Mrs. Weasley's words to heart, and she really did _not_ want to be sick on her wedding. As it was the end of the summer, she and Ron were spending most of their time outside, trying to absorb the last of the good weather. They had spent most of the summer inside, working at the Ministry or working for the wedding, and had realized this rather late in the season.

Ron came out of the back door, shakily balancing a tray with two cups of tea on it. Hermione, who had just flipped the page, stifled a giggle from behind her hand at the title of the next page; she didn't want to make any loud noises in case Ron dropped the tray.

"What's funny?" Ron asked, sitting down next to her and relieving himself of the tray. "And what are you reading?"

"It's a magazine my mum gave me," Hermione said regretfully, shaking back the cover so that they were both looking at a vapid bride on the cover, which was mainly taken up by her extremely voluminous wedding dress. Hermione shook her head sadly. She had never thought herself to be someone who would read something like this. "It's a bridal magazine," she clarified, as Ron continued to look confused.

"Aren't I supposed to dread those and burn them or something?" Ron asked uncertainly, and Hermione laughed, flipping back the glossy pages to the article that had made her laugh so that she could show it to Ron.

"You only dread them if I make you read them," she told him, locating the article at long last.

"And are you going to make me read them?" Ron asked fearfully, his eyes wide.

Hermione fixed him with a half-hearted stern look. "Only if you're being really annoying," she told him. "But that's not the point. Read this," she said, pointing at the top of the page. Ron raised his eyebrows at the irony, but Hermione shook her head and gave him a pointed look; her took her silent cue and looked down at the magazine she had shoved into his hand.

"Five most romantic places to have your honeymoon," Ron read out loud, his eyebrows furrowing. He looked back at Hermione. "What's that?" he asked.

"What, romance?" Hermione asked, though she was joking. "It's what you do when you actually have an ounce of maturity in you, and you don't go absolutely crimson every time you make a nice gesture to a girl," she said teasingly, and on cue Ron's ears turned pink.

"Funny," he said wryly. "I _think_ I know what romance is, thank you very much," he said.

"I don't think you do," Hermione said airly, folding her arms across her chest and grinning at him. He grinned back.

"I _meant_," Ron said, fixing her with a glare, "what's a honeymoon?"

Hermione was slightly taken aback. "You've never heard of it?" she asked him, taking the article back rather sadly; he had missed the point then. "I suppose you wouldn't have, I think it might be a Muggle thing. Anyway, it's what you do after you get married, you go on holiday."

Ron's eyes lit up. "You go on holiday just for getting _married_? That's _excellent_!" he exclaimed.

Hermione laughed. She liked when she taught him things because he had a strange, new way of looking at the things she took for granted, like going on a honeymoon. "It's when newly married couples…get to know each other," she said slowly, knowing fully well that Ron wouldn't understand the wording.

And sure enough, "Get to know each other?" he asked. Hermione rolled her eyes, even though she supposed she had set herself up for this one.

"_You know_," she said pointedly. "When couples are...celibate until marriage," she said, and Ron had a look of dawning comprehension.

"Oh," he said slowly. "So are we going to do one of those?" he asked, after considering this for a moment, then taking a sip of tea.

Hermione gave him a questioning look. "Do one of _what_?" she asked.

"A honeymoon," Ron clarified, handing Hermione her cup of tea.

"I think that's what my parents wanted to talk to us about tonight," she said, referring to the fact that they were having dinner with her parents that evening. "I think that's going to be their wedding gift for us, mum hinted at it a few days ago when I was over there after work."

Ron squirmed uncomfortably in his chair, and Hermione knew exactly what was going to come next. He always reacted the same when confronted with the topic of money. Even now that he _had_ money, he still didn't like talking about it. "They don't have to do that," he mumbled.

Hermione tried to give Ron a kind look, but it might have turned out more exasperated. "Ron, it's a _gift_, I think it's something they _want_ to do. We're getting married at your parent's house; I think they want to do something too." When Ron continued to look uncomfortable, she leaned over and kissed him softly. "We'll talk about it tonight. Anyway, now that you know what a honeymoon is, read the article," she said, shoving the magazine back into his lap.

"Five most romantic places to have your honeymoon," Ron repeated. "Five, the Caribbean. Warm and always sunny, the Caribbean is –"

"Skip to number three," Hermione said impatiently. Ron obliged.

"Three, backpacking through Europe," Ron said, looking up from the magazine, grinning. He looked back down and finished reading. "Whether it be in bed and breakfasts…what's a –"

"Not important," Hermione said, growing slightly impatient; now that it had taken him so long, the article might not be funny anymore. "Just finish reading!" she cried, and Ron rolled his eyes, smoothing the article out and reading again.

"Er, oh, here it is: whether it be in bed and breakfasts, five star hotels, or a..." Ron paused, looking down at the article disbelievingly, a slow smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Hermione waited patiently. "Or a _cozy tent_, backpacking across the beautiful scenery of Europe can create a romantic setting for a more adventurous couple," Ron said, barely making the last few words out for laughing.

"It's good, isn't it?" Hermione asked, laughing as well. It _was_ still funny.

Ron nodded. "I didn't realize, the year we were camping out, how _romantic_ it could have all been. I was too busy freezing my backside off to realize that the '_beautiful scenery_' would have made it ideal to light a few candles and finally tell you how much I fancied you," Ron said sarcastically.

"Of course," Hermione said, laughing, "We had a few things on our mind."

"Like being chased down by the evilest wizard of all time," Ron said.

"And being caught in the middle of nowhere without knowing where anyone else is," Hermione said.

"Though according to your magazine that's _romantic_," Ron said dramatically, and Hermione slapped him playfully on the arm.

"I guess the magazine doesn't account for the fact that the beautiful scenery can be a little isolating," Hermione said rationally.

"Or a little cold," Ron added. Hermione nodded, and Ron pushed on. "Or completely lacking in any decent food," he said quickly, jumping up just in time to avoid her hand hitting his arm.

"I tried my best!" she cried, standing up as well, "It's hard, you know, trying to find food on a mountainside," she said, putting her hands on her hips.

Ron tugged at her hand and brought her closer to him, kissing her softly on the lips. "I know, and I know you couldn't do much because _food-is-one-of-Gamp's-Five-Laws-of-Elemental-Transfiguration_," he said, grinning at her, saying the last words very quickly, in a clear imitation of her familiar, know-it-all tone. Hermione ignored it.

"It's amazing you still remember that," she said slowly, kissing him again. Ron grinned proudly at her.

"Are you joking? I'd never forget that one. Even if I wanted to… which I don't," he said, though with the air that they should probably drop the conversation now, before it stopped being fun and instead entered more dangerous waters.

They sat back down, Hermione returning to her appalling magazine, and Ron to the edition of the _Prophet_ he had brought along with the tray of tea. They sat in amicable silence for a few moments; each lost in their own thoughts. Hermione bumped her toes against Ron's leg, keeping a steady rhythm; she was finding it so hard to keep still the last few days, what with all the nervous energy from the wedding.

"What time do we have to be at your parent's house?" Ron asked, "And _ow_, by the way," he said, glancing down at his leg where Hermione was still bumping her foot against it. Apparently, she had been increasing her force until she was almost kicking him. She stopped.

"Six thirty," she answered, flipping a page in her magazine, and starting to tap her fingers against the arm of her chair. She felt Ron's eyes watching her, and she looked up. "Sorry," she said. "And sorry about your leg," she added.

Ron grinned, shaking back his hair. He needed a haircut before the wedding. "It's fine. I think you may have given me a bruise though," he said, lifting up the leg of his trousers to inspect his shin. Hermione leaned in closer to examine the damage she had done as well.

"Sorry," she said again. "I just can't stop moving," she said, and she blushed despite herself. Ron stopped looking and his leg and looked up at her. There was a raw sort of happiness behind his eyes that she loved as he looked at her.

"Me too," he admitted, his ears turning red. "I actually rearranged my drawers yesterday at work just for something to do," he said, laughing.

Hermione smiled. "That must be the first time you've ever cleaned anything," she said jokingly, though in the back of her mind, she wondered if it was. Ron was notoriously untidy, something that she had hoped he would grow out of, but hadn't.

Ron gave her a look of mock-hurt, though he caved and grinned as well. "You know, I think it may have been," he said, scratching his chin and squinting his eyes as if trying to recall a date very far in the past. Hermione laughed. She felt very strange; the nerves were certainly getting to her. She felt as though she was drifting slightly, always about an inch of the ground. Mundane things seemed hilarious to her, she felt as though she had always had slightly too much sugar to eat. With Ron it only got worse because she knew he felt the same.

"So, are we going to a restaurant tonight?" Ron asked eagerly, and Hermione couldn't help but smile endearingly at him. Some of the novelties he found in her parent's life seemed to never wear off for him, like the television in the sitting room, and going out to restaurants. He found it absolutely amazing that you could ask for whatever you liked, and then it would be brought to you. She had told him this was ironic, because at school the elves had brought food for him. He had asked her if she was going to start a campaign to help liberate the restaurant waiters. The conversation had ended there.

"I'm not sure," Hermione said vaguely, casting the magazine aside and picking up the _Prophet_ Ron had discarded instead. They fell into comfortable silence instead.

"We could go to Paris," Ron said suddenly, after a few minutes. Hermione, who was completely engrossed in an article about foreign affairs over the Potion trade, only half-heard him.

"That seems awfully far for dinner," she said, then looked up as Ron's words finally sunk in. Ron was looking at her expectantly, a slightly bemused grin on his face.

"Paris?" she repeated, putting the newspaper down and turning in her chair so that she was facing him again. "On our honeymoon, you mean?" she asked, and Ron nodded. She had been to France with her parents when she was thirteen, though they had mostly stayed in inns in small towns and the countryside. She had always wanted to go to Paris; the city and its mystique had intrigued her since she had glimpsed its skyline as they flew over it on their way back home.

Ron nodded. "Why not? Of course, I don't know any French, so you'd have to do all the talking for me. But if what you said about honeymoons is true…" he said, drifting off and looking up at her anxiously, as if asking permission to say something immature. Hermione only rolled her eyes; she was too preoccupied thinking about Paris. Ron seemed to take that as a yes. "…then there won't be much talking," he finished, ducking as she slapped his arm again.

"But you've never been on holiday," Hermione reminded him. "Isn't there anywhere you'd like to go?"

Ron didn't hesitate for a moment. "I'd like to go to Paris, because _you'd_ like to go to Paris," he said, and Hermione felt as though she was floating a little bit higher. She was completely speechless, which was an unsettling and strange feeling for her. Shakily, she got out of her chair and sat down next to Ron on his. There wasn't much room, but it didn't matter, not at all.

"You're amazing," she finally managed, her voice rising and falling. She thought she might cry, which might alarm Ron if she did because she wasn't sure he knew what was going on in her head. She kissed him softly, and she knew that he would understand.

"Come on," Hermione said, after ten minutes. Ron pulled her to her feet, which Hermione was grateful for because she wasn't sure she would be able to walk. "We should get ready for my parents, we have to be there in half an hour," she reminded him.

Forty minutes later (they were, once again, late) Hermione pushed open the door of her childhood home. Her parents never kept their doors locked, which still frightened her. Even though they lived in a quiet suburb and no one on the street locked their door, she hated the idea that their home was so open. Her parents maintained that in the thirty years they had lived in that house, they hadn't had any problems, and Hermione had finally dropped the issue. She hadn't told her parents that she had cast protective charms over the entire neighborhood.

There wasn't anyone in the front room, and no one made any movement to greet them as Hermione shut the door behind her. She looked around, slightly confused. Usually, her parents tripped over themselves to say hello; they rarely saw Hermione because of their work schedules, and with the wedding so close their visits had been even more infrequent.

"Mum?" Hermione called into the silent house. "Dad?"

"We're in the den," her mother called, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She and Ron made their way into the den. The strangest sight greeted them. Her parents were standing in the middle of what seemed to be Hermione's entire childhood. How she had amounted to that many boxes rendered her almost speechless; she stood in the doorway, mouth slightly open in shock. Her eyes traveled over the room: faded art projects and stacks of papers. Photograph albums were scattered among the masses of picture books and dolls, the latter of which seemed to be less handled than the former.

"What is all of this?" Hermione asked breathlessly, "And where did it all come from?" she asked, which seemed to be a more pressing question. She moved a box of stuffed animals from the nearest sofa and sat down, motioning for Ron – who seemed a bit shocked – to do the same.

"Well, it builds up over the years," her mother said defensively. "I didn't have any patients today, so I decided to do some cleaning. I came across one box of your primary school work and, well, once you get started you can't stop," she said, and Hermione was reminded of her conversation with Ron earlier about not being able to stay still.

"You didn't throw any of it away?" Hermione asked, amazed.

Her father shook his head. "Apparently not," he said, giving his wife a look.

"It's nice to have things to look back on!" Her mother said defensively. Hermione raised an eyebrow and picked up a crumpled mass of what may have once been paper mache. "Well, maybe we can get rid of a few things," her mother conceded. Hermione, however, wasn't paying attention. Ron had just picked up a photo album and was flipping through it with a very amused expression.

"No!" Hermione cried, trying to wrestle the book out of his hands. "Don't look at that!" but Ron held it away from her, out of her reach. He was grinning.

"Why?" he asked. "Do you think I won't want to marry you if I look at…wow, look at your hair!" he exclaimed. Hermione stopped trying to fight him to see how bad it was. Deeming it safe, Ron put the book back in his lap so that they could both see.

Hermione covered her mouth with her hands, eyes wide in embarrassment. It was one of her more awkward stages; her hair was bigger than the picture was wide, some of it was cut off by the edge of the photograph.

"Wow," Ron said again, flipping the pages and revealing more horrible photographs where Hermione and her hair were always the focus of the picture.

"I wouldn't say anything else if I were you," Hermione's father advised Ron from the midst of a pile of books, which looked on the verge of avalanching.

Ron looked up, startled, then he looked carefully at Hermione, as if fearing an explosion. Hermione said nothing; she was too mortified by the album in front of her to say anything else.

"Look what I found!" Hermione's mother exclaimed, holding up a large cardboard box over her head.

"What is it?" Hermione asked hesitantly, thinking to herself that it couldn't get any worse. Her mother opened the lid of the box and took out a cassette tape. Hermione's heart sank; apparently it could get worse than the photographs.

"What is it?" Ron whispered in her ear, clearly embarrassed that he didn't know.

"Home videos!" Hermione's mother answered, wading through the sea of Hermione's childhood to get to the television.

"You don't have to do that," Hermione said faintly.

"I don't get it," Ron said. "I still don't understand what that is."

Hermione tried to think of the best way to explain. "It's kind of like our pictures; that tape has a moving picture and it talks. People record things so that they can look at them later," she said, knowing that even if she didn't explain it well now, he would understand in a few minutes.

Mrs. Granger checked the dates on the two tapes, and chose the one in her left hand. "Do we have to watch them?" Hermione pleaded, though her mother ignored it.

"Yes we do," Ron answered, putting his arm around her shoulders and sitting back in the sofa. Hermione groaned but sat back as well, though she kept her hands in her lap in case she needed to put them over her eyes.

The video started off as a shot of the staircase and Hermione groaned; she remembered this video, and she wondered if her mother had chosen it on purpose. She decided that she probably had. The frame stayed on the staircase for a few seconds longer; Hermione could faintly hear her father, who was filming, breathing softly.

"I thought you said there were people in these," Ron whispered in her ear, and Hermione shushed him, and sure enough there was a scuffling sound at the top of the staircase.

Hermione fought very hard against the urge to bury her face in Ron's shoulder so as not to see the six-year-old version of herself that had just appeared at the top of the stairs. Ron made a quiet sound that might have been a struggle to keep from laughing. In the video, she looked as though she had fought her way out of a thicket to get to the landing. Her dressing gown, which was a horrid shade of pink that her mother must have bought for her, was hanging off on one side, revealing her pale and very bony shoulder bones. Her hair seemed to swamp the rest of her body; some of her face was hidden by it. She was wearing mismatched socks and clutching a book firmly to her chest.

"Happy Christmas, Hermione," her father called from behind the camera. The six-year-old Hermione beamed down at her father, revealing a missing bottom tooth and two very large front teeth. She resembled something like a jack-o-lantern. She padded down the stairs in the awkward way that children do; stepping down first every time with her right foot, her hand stiffly sliding down the banister. When she approached the camera she smiled again, her teeth seeming even larger close up. Hermione noticed that Ron wasn't holding back laughter anymore.

"Happy Christmas," she said, and then temporarily disappeared as she hugged her father, and then her mother. Her mother murmured something in the background.

"There are lots of presents waiting for you under the tree!" her mother exclaimed, and the camera panned to Hermione and Mrs. Granger, who were both making their way into the living room; the room that they were all in now. Where her father was sitting was almost exactly where the tree was, and where she and Ron were sitting was where the six-year-old version of herself sat down, waiting politely for her mother to hand her a present. Even as a child she had been reserved; never throwing herself into something unthinkingly.

"Thank you," the six-year-old Hermione said, meticulously pulling back the wrapping paper back, slowly so that it wouldn't tear. Ron's hand found hers; she knew he was thinking that that part of her had not changed.

"Come on, you can just rip it off you know," Hermione's father joked from behind the camera, and Ron squeezed her hand again. When she had finally succeeded in parting the paper from the gift, she held up the present so that it could be documented by her father's camera, a grin plastered to her face. For some reason, Ron squeezed her hand again.

"What is it?" Hermione's mother asked, adopting the vapid tone that one used when asking a child a question they knew the answer to.

"A book!" Hermione exclaimed, looking down fondly at its cover; she remembered that book. It was _The Princess Bride_; it was one of her favorites, she had read it a dozen times since that Christmas. She watched as her child-self flipped through the pages, eyes wide as she gazed hungrily at the printed words on the page. Her joy in that book, in that moment, seemed to leak through the screen into the present-day sitting room; Ron hadn't stopped gripping her hand, if anything he was holding it even harder.

The Hermione on the television pushed hair impatiently out of her hair, flipping back to the first page and beginning to read. She had apparently forgotten that her parents were sitting in front of her, that she was being taped. She was so entirely, and familiarly, engaged with that book.

"Hermione, don't you want to open your other presents?" Hermione's mother gently encouraged, and her arm appeared in the frame as she held out another present. Hermione gently placed _The Princess Bride_ on the floor next to her and smiled at her mother, taking the present. "You have all these gifts that Santa brought you," her mother added.

Hermione looked up at her mother, temporarily distracted from the present in her hands. "Santa doesn't bring gifts. He can't," she said, quite matter-of-factly. The real Hermione did a slight double-take; her tone was exactly the same.

Hermione's parents in the video laughed. "What do you mean? Of course he brings you the presents," her father's disembodied voice said.

Hermione now focused on her father. "A man who flies around the world in a single night, visiting every house through their chimney and giving children all of the presents they asked for? It's impossible," she said, in that same rational tone. Hermione wasn't sure if she should laugh at herself or not.

"It's not impossible!" Her father said from behind the camera.

"Maybe it's magic," her mother added.

"There's no such thing as magic," Hermione responded, as if she was teaching her mother a lesson. The Hermione in the video was sitting there quite naturally, the early morning sun falling on her through the window, sitting there calmly as if she had not just denounced a childhood dream. "There can't be magic, it can't be proved," she added.

Hermione remembered the video for that exact moment; because five years later she had gotten a letter that had given her proof that magic did exist; that she was even a part of it. That the things she could do sometimes shouldn't be ignored and put in the back of her head; there was a reason for them, there was an answer.

The video carried on for a few more minutes; her father taped for a few more minutes as Hermione opened two more presents, and then the camera was turned off. Hermione's mother walked over to the television and took the tape out, beaming at Hermione.

"See, that's why I keep things like this. Isn't it nice to look back on these things?" she asked. In the kitchen, the oven timer began to beep and her mother rushed to turn it off. She hesitated in the doorway, Hermione's eyes locked onto her mother's as Mrs. Granger surveyed the scene. Then, her eyes fell on Ron, and something in her face changed. "Bill, will you help me in the kitchen for a moment," she asked, and Mr. Granger got up from the floor, grumbling but obeying his wife's desire. He patted Hermione on the shoulder, apparently oblivious to his wife's intentions.

Ron and Hermione were alone in the sitting room now. Hermione turned to see Ron, wondering what his expression could be for her mother to leave the two of them alone. His face was slightly shocked, as if he was trying to work out what he had just seen. Their hands were still intertwined between them.

"So," Hermione said, breaking the silence that seemed to stretch far too long. "What did you think of your first video? I know I didn't explain it very well, but…" though she trailed off; she wanted – needed – him to say something.

"That was incredible," Ron said finally, his voice hoarse. "You…there…you're….that was amazing," he said, blinking uncertainly around the room. Whatever reaction she had been expecting, this wasn't it.

"I had hair enough for two people and teeth that gave my parents nightmares," she said, her cheeks reddening with embarrassment. She did not know why she was ashamed of this; she had never been a materialistic person, her appearance meant practically nothing to her. She did not know why she cared so much at this moment, why she was so terrified.

And then she realized that she was embarrassed for the same reason that Ron was awed. Though she saw an awkward, bookish child, Ron saw one that was impassioned and thrilled by the simple joy of a book; intelligent, yet warm enough to light a room years in the future. And although they both saw something different, they saw something that was the same as well. In their minds, they were substituting her frizzy brown hair for his red, her love for books equalling his love for Quidditch.

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_Author's Note: I hope you all liked it; please review if you can. Next up will be the day before the wedding, and I'll bring Harry back into the story. Thanks for reading!_


	39. Tents and Trees

_Author's Note: We're nearing the very end..._

_Enjoy!_

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Chapter Thirty-Nine –

The kitchen of the Burrow had always been Hermione's favorite part of Ron's house. She knew it almost as well as she knew her own home; the scratched wooden table in the center, the rough wood of the floor. The way the drawers always squeaked when they opened, and you had to tap the left burner of the stove twice, because it was temperamental. She knew the things that filled it just as well. The chair closest to her right now was always Ron's. One of the legs was shorter than the other three, and it tilted when she put her hand on it. She knew what was kept in every cabinet, which plate each person preferred – because they never had a complete set – and where the salt shakers were stashed, though they always seemed to go missing.

She sat down at Ron's chair as she waited for the kettle to boil. She sat on the edge, waiting to jump at the sound of the whistle; she felt guilty for being here. The wedding was the next day, and she knew there must be plenty of things to do. But no matter how vainly she searched, she couldn't find anything to busy herself with. The guest list had been double, and then triple checked. She had gone over the flowers four times…that morning. Everything was where it should be and every detail had been seen to. She had nothing else to do but to come inside and make herself a cup of tea. And yet she still felt guilty about it. She supposed that the wedding had taken up so much time lately, that it seemed strange and wrong to not devote a minute of the day to it. Not that she didn't enjoy it; she loved planning the wedding, though not as much as the wedding itself.

She looked down at the table in front of her. Along its wooden surface were names and words, some carved deeper than others, their letters standing out around the other carvings. She recognized Ginny's handwriting, deep and forceful as if she were trying very hard to leave a mark. Here and there was a swear word that one of the twins had daringly carved and had missed Mrs. Weasley's sharp eyes. She recognized a word of two of Percy's; he was the only one who did, and ever would, write in cursive. And here was Ron's writing, right in front of her. She touched her pointer finger to the letters of his name, written in purposeful capital letters. She smiled to herself, tracing them over and over again.

The kettle began to whistle noisily, and she rushed to turn it off. She knew that she wouldn't be in trouble if someone found her in here, but she couldn't shake the guilty feeling that she wasn't doing anything right now. Carefully, so that the hot tea wouldn't spill over the edge of the mug, she pushed the back door open and walked out into the garden, just in case someone needed her.

There was a large white tent occupying most of the back garden, the canvas flapping lazily in the early autumn breeze. She sat down on the back steps and observed the tent. The leaves were starting to tinge red and orange, and Hermione knew that it would look beautiful tomorrow. She tilted her face up to the blue, blue sky dotted with a few white clouds. It wouldn't rain tomorrow. It would be perfect. For a moment, Hermione was overwhelmed. She wasn't sure if she should laugh, cry, shout; all three seemed equally appealing at the moment. There was so much that she was feeling she thought she might burst. The presence of the tent wasn't helping either.

"It's a bit strange, isn't it?" said a voice behind her, and Hermione nearly spilled tea down herself, jumping at the unexpected voice. She turned around and looked up at Ron, who had just come out through the back door unnoticed by Hermione in her reverie.

"I didn't hear you," she said. "Are you looking for me? Is something wrong? Did your mum send you? Did we forget something?"

Ron rolled his eyes, but in an endearing sort of way. "Of course, not at all, haven't seen her so I don't think so, and that's impossible. There, I think I answered all of those questions," he said, grinning, and sat down next to her on the top step. She handed him her mug and he took a sip, making a disgusted face. "I still can't understand why you don't use sugar," he said, handing it back to her at arm's length.

"It rots your teeth," she reminded him, and drank some as well. "Anyway, what were you saying when you came outside?" she asked, turning to him. Ron was looking ahead, at the tent.

"Just that it's a bit odd. Last time this tent was here was for Bill's wedding. I didn't think…" he trailed off, smiling to himself.

"That next time it would be for us?" she finished, because she had been thinking the same thing since the tent had been put up yesterday morning. It didn't help that she was staying in Ginny's room, which faced the back garden and had a perfect view of the tent.

Ron nodded, "Exactly. I mean," he backtracked, his eyes wide. "It's not that…obviously it's not a bad thing, it's just…funny," he said, looking at her cautiously, as if he had said something wrong. Hermione just smiled.

"I know," she said. "Because last time we were here, the biggest gesture you could make was _telling_ me to dance with you," she said, half-joking.

Ron affected outrage. "I didn't _tell_ you," he corrected. "I _asked_. I asked very politely, and it was most definitely a _question_," he said firmly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You said, 'come and dance,' that's not a question," she said, and she knew she was right because it had been one of the happiest moments at the time. When nights were long in the tent, when he had left, when he was wearing that horrible locket, she would remind herself that he had said those words, because they meant something to her, and they gave her some tiny fraction of hope. Hope that he really did like her, that it wasn't all in her mind, that when he snapped at her there was still a part of him that wanted her to dance with him.

"Well," Ron said, bringing her back to the present. "In my head it was a question. Mind you, I was a bit nervous so I don't think it came out as I wanted it to," he said, scratching his chin and trying to remember.

"You were a terrible dancer," Hermione mused, smiling slightly and looking at Ron. He laughed in agreement; though she knew she wasn't much better.

"If you were six foot two you wouldn't be much of a dancer either," he said, defending himself. "My arms and legs get in the way, not to mention how nervous I was," he added seriously.

Hermione laughed. She remembered how nervous he had been. The first song he hadn't even looked at her; he had just looked at his feet the entire time so she had watched his ears, which had turned steadily redder. Gradually he had become a bit more comfortable, and by the third or fourth song they had realized who they were dancing with and they became themselves. They had laughed and gently teased each other, gradually moving closer to one another as the night had gone on. Hermione remembered feeling as though there was an electric current running up and down her body. She remembered catching Ron looking at her when he thought she wasn't looking, which made the current run even faster.

"I wasn't very good either," she added fairly. She knew Ron would never agree with her.

And right on cue, "You were much better than me," he said immediately. "I was worried you'd notice that my hands were clammy and my ears were bright red," he said.

"I didn't notice that your ears were red," Hermione said, deadpan, and Ron looked torn between embarrassed and amused.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, before realizing that Ron really hadn't answered her questions properly. "So there's nothing you mum needs me to do?" she asked again, though she knew what the answer would be.

Ron shook his head. "I think she's in a bit of a shock, to be honest. Usually she runs around right before one of these things, but she said everything is under control. Because of you, of course," he added, grinning down at her.

Hermione sighed, smiling happily. "I'm in shock too. I thought there would be so much to do today, I didn't think I'd sit down until tomorrow night!" she said.

"Of course not, you'd never procrastinate like that," Ron said jokingly. Hermione slapped his arm and his face turned serious. "Really, though. You're amazing," he said, and just like that the current turned on again.

"I had help of course," she said, blushing. "You helped, and you mum did. Ginny did loads as well, and my mum," she said.

Ron shook his head. "Take the compliment. None of us did as much as you," he said. She smiled and leaned against him, putting her head on his shoulder. She felt him rest his head on top of hers.

"Was it hard sleeping last night?" she asked.

"Impossible," Ron answered, almost at once. They had come to the Burrow yesterday afternoon, and as per Mrs. Weasley's instructions, the boys slept in one room and the girls the other. Ron had tried to make the case that it was just supposed to be the night _before_ the wedding, but Hermione thought that starting a fight wouldn't be a good idea. So Ron had slept in his bedroom with Harry, and Hermione in Ginny's.

"Me too," she answered. She had ended up conjuring a few pillows and putting them on her left side, because the bed felt empty and cold and she couldn't fall asleep. She did the same thing when Ron was on a case and had to work late.

"Harry snores, and I didn't know what to do with my arms, because usually they're around you," Ron said, his ears turning pink. "I didn't realize how small my old bed was either; I knew my feet hung over the edge before, but last night I think I was sleeping more on the floor than on the bed," Ron said.

"You could have just used a Stretching Spell," Hermione told him.

Ron sighed. "Could've done, but my wand was on the dresser and it was dark. Plus, I didn't feel like getting out of bed," he said simply.

"_Lazy_," Hermione scolded and Ron rolled his eyes in a good natured sort of way. Both of them were too happy to have a true argument. They had been making small pokes at one another for the last few weeks, because tension was high and it got to both of them. It had been a predictable cycle: Ron would say something to get on her nerves because he was bored and she was working; she'd yell at him for being childish or distracting; Ron would yell at her for being such a perfectionist; she'd yell at Ron that without all of the work she did there wouldn't be a wedding; he'd kiss her to get her to stop yelling and because he liked it when she yelled; she kissed him back because she wasn't yelling and like it when he yelled; Ron would very impressively maneuver them to the bedroom, where they would stay for a while; and it all ended with her running around and fussing that now she was behind and had even more work to do. But now, in the lull between today and what tomorrow held, they seemed oddly peaceful.

"Do you know how I finally got to sleep?" he asked her, shaking her out of her thoughts. He had a tone that she recognized; he had been thinking the same thing she was, she knew what he was doing.

"I don't want to know," she said simply.

"I took a stack of your lists and just read them," Ron said. He was trying to goad her, trying to get her to fight with him so they could start their cycle. But Hermione was too oddly peaceful. It wouldn't work.

"Nice try," she told him. "But I'm not going to start yelling at you for calling my lists boring," she said, and Ron looked slightly crestfallen.

"It was worth a try," he said hopefully, and Hermione laughed.

Just then, Harry came around the house, a look of confusion on his face. "What's wrong?" Hermione called unconcernedly to him, putting a hand above her eyes so that she could make him out through the late afternoon sun. Harry waited until he neared the two of them to answer her.

"I've just been inside," he said. "It's so calm in there. I was expecting to be mauled by you and Ron's mum," he said. Both Hermione and Ron laughed.

"That's because we're done," she said, and Harry raised his eyebrows.

"What do you mean, you're done?" he asked. "There's really nothing left to plan?" he asked, in the same incredulous tone Ron had used. From beside her, Ron laughed in agreement.

"I know, I was thinking the same thing. But this is Hermione, you know. Of course things would get done. This is the girl who did homework early _just for fun_," he added.

They all laughed, and Hermione suddenly didn't want to be sitting anymore. She thought that maybe being stationary for too long was getting to her. She stood up suddenly, Ron looking up at her in surprise.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Let's take a walk," she said, the words bubbling to her lips before she could think about them. Ron and Harry exchanged knowing glances, but Ron stood up and they made their way down the path through the garden, parallel to the tent.

They walked through the overgrown garden to the back; each knowing where they were going, though the destination hadn't been said aloud. For Bill and Fleur's wedding the garden had been tidied, though Hermione had told Mrs. Weasley not to fuss with it this time. She liked how it was overgrown, how the plants fought and danced with one another, how branches intertwined and the pathway was cut in half by leaves. She didn't like when the bushes were pruned and the weeds pulled out; it didn't look right. Though they had de-gnomed the garden. She didn't mind that aspect of the garden being changed.

The tree at the back of the garden marked the end of the Burrow's property. After this there were rolling hills, past those was the village. The three of them sat in the shade of the tree, a place where they had spent much of their summers at the Burrow: Harry and Ron talking about Quidditch and Hermione trying to block them out, studying or reading a textbook; the three of them exclaiming over the dangers they had just barely escaped, and the new ones that they knew lay ahead. Sometimes she thought that they had spent more time out here than inside. She would sit here when they played Quidditch, because she didn't like flying and was much more comfortable sitting here on the ground and watching Ron as he hovered uncertainly in the air, nervous about a game that didn't mean anything. Hermione touched the bark of the tree and fought the tears that welled up in her eyes.

"Do you remember the first time you met us?" Harry asked suddenly, and Hermione knew that he was asking her. She sat against the trunk of the tree, but the bark dug into her back so she leaned against Ron instead.

"On the train to Hogwarts? Of course," Hermione said.

"You told me my spell was crap and you bossed us around," Ron said, smiling.

Hermione looked up at him. "I didn't say it was _crap_, I just said that it wasn't real, which is true because it probably wasn't," she said defensively.

"You fixed my glasses," Harry added, and Hermione nodded.

"I think right then we had the dynamics worked out," Hermione said, remembering that day; how she had come into the compartment forcefully, issuing more confidence than she actually had, barging into a conversation that wasn't hers.

"We just needed a troll to bring us all together," Harry said, and the three of them laughed, Hermione wiping tears from her eyes, though she couldn't quite work out why she was crying exactly.

"We've been through some mental things," Ron said once they had all stopped laughing. They fell quiet for a few minutes, remembering. She found Ron's hand and squeezed it tightly, and then, after a moment's pause, she took Harry's hand as well.

"Your flying car," Harry said, and Ron laughed.

"I never got to ride in that," Hermione said, slightly regretfully. She would have never gone into the air in a car Mr. Weasley had enchanted, but she still felt a bit left out.

"You didn't miss much," Ron said. "It was fun for about five minutes, and then it got boring and hot," he said, and Hermione smiled appreciatively.

"Not to mention, Ron's a terrible driver," Harry said, laughing.

"I'm a _very_ good driver," Ron retorted.

"There aren't any roads," Hermione said. "How can you possibly be _bad_ at it?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "George taught him to drive. Does that explain it?" and Hermione nodded. "Besides," Harry added. "We drove that car to school, you would never do something that blatantly against the rules, would you?" he asked.

"I don't know, I still can't believe Hermione got a detention before I did," Ron said gloatingly, and Hermione rolled her eyes; he would never let that one alone.

"It was because we were helping Hagrid, and I've never had once since. Besides, you've had loads more since that, so I think you outweigh the one I had in first year," she said, stung. She was picturing her record, locked up somewhere in an old file of Filch's, her clean piece of paper marred by that tiny bout of rule breaking.

Harry laughed, "Oh yeah, Norbert," he said.

"It's Norberta now, isn't it?" Ron asked, musingly. "Didn't Charlie say that it's a girl?" he asked, and Hermione nodded.

Harry shook his head regretfully. "Hagrid's worse idea, I think," and looked up to see both Hermione and Ron staring at him.

"Have you forgotten those mental Blast Ended Skrewts?" Ron asked incredulously. "Norbert – er, Norberta – might have breathed fire, but those bloody things did that as well as stinging, sucking, and poisoning or whatever they did. They probably would have started eating students if they hadn't eaten each other," he said darkly, and Hermione shuddered.

"Some of Hagrid's stuff wasn't bad," Harry said fairly. "Buckbeak was pretty useful, wasn't he?" he added.

Hermione nodded. "That's right," Ron agreed. "He beat up Malfoy before any of us could," Ron said, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"He meant with Sirius," she said, and Harry laughed. Ron's ears turned red again. They fell into silence for a moment.

"But Hermione wasn't far behind Buckbeak for beating Malfoy up, were you?" and Ron lightened up immediately; he often told Hermione it was one of his fondest memories.

Hermione blushed. "I didn't beat him up," she said, remembering the time she lost control and punched Malfoy in the face. She had been sleep deprived and severely stressed at the time; she hadn't been thinking rationally.

"Don't try and be modest," Ron said. "It was great. Really cool," he said, smiling at the memory. They lapsed into memory again, each thinking their own thoughts.

"We've been through a lot, haven't we?" Hermione said, and she felt the tears, which she had been trying very hard to keep at bay, start to leak out of the corners of her eyes.

"I think we've done more than everyone in Gryffindor put together," Harry said, and Hermione recognized a slightly satisfied tone in his voice. She smiled slightly. "We've been through a lot," he added.

Hermione looked down at her hands, one in Ron's and one in Harry's. From between Ron's fingers she saw her ring, glittering on her forth finger. They had been through a lot. Their friendship had been broken up by danger, jealousy, and tension. But despite all of it, despite everything around them, they were here, sitting under this tree. They were stronger than all of it, they had made it through all of it. Hermione blinked back tears, tears of happiness and sadness. Ron looked down; a patch of his shirt was now wet with her tears.

"What's wrong?" he asked, concernedly, brushing the tears off her cheeks. Harry looked slightly uncomfortable and surprised.

"I don't know," she said, feeling slightly foolish. It was the truth; she wasn't sure if she should be happy or sad. The wedding tomorrow was a wonderful beginning, but it was an ending as well. Until now, they had all been together. She and Ron had been together, but it had never been official; they were still all three defined as friends.

"Do you think things are going to change?" Harry asked, blinking and looking slightly alarmed, as if the thought was occurring suddenly to him as well.

Ron paused in the act of comforting Hermione and thought for a moment before shaking his head. "Nah, we're getting married, it's not like we're _dying_. We'll still be friends, it's not…" but he broke off, and Hermione knew why. She knew he was going to say, 'that different' but had stopped because he, like she did, knew that it wasn't true. It _would_ be different. They were going to be _married_. As amazing and wonderful as it was, as much as Hermione had been yearning for it, it meant that they were giving a tiny piece of something up as well. They were sharing something that Harry wouldn't understand, not now, at least. Of course they would still be friends; as Harry had said, they had been through a lot, and nothing could end that.

Hermione realized that this division between the two of them and Harry had been there for a while. She wondered when it had first crept into existence. She thought that maybe it had been there as early as their third year, when she looked at Ron and realized that she thought differently about him than she did about Harry, or when he first thought about kissing her. Maybe it had been there in forth year, when she had made him jealous for the first time, or when they fought all through their fifth year, or when he had made her jealous. Maybe it had been there when they danced at Bill's wedding, when they held hands as they slept, when he left her, when he came back. Maybe it had been there when they first kissed, when she fist called him her boyfriend. Maybe it had been there the first time they said the word love, the first time they had slept together. Maybe it had been there when they defined something as "ours", when they bought a flat, when he proposed, when she said yes, when they moved into a home. She did not know when the line had been drawn; perhaps it had always been there, ever since that first day on the train when she interrupted him and boldly forced herself into their existence.

Harry sat back against the tree, thinking deeply and biting his lip. They were all silent now, deep within their own thoughts. Hermione's hand was still in Harry's as well, and she squeezed it comfortingly. She did not know what she was trying to tell him. That things were going to be fine, that they weren't leaving him behind. That while some things were changing so many things were staying exactly the same. Because she knew that some things couldn't change, no matter how much you might.

They sat in the shade of the tree for some time, thinking mostly, though sometimes talking; bringing up another forgotten memory, another story, another forgotten joke. They would still have this: this tree – this past – that would never separate the three of them. Hermione watched as their three shadows stretched out at the sun slowly sunk into the horizon; two of them with their heads slightly closer together.

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_Author's Note: I don't know, that was a bit cliche at the end, I was wrestling with not posting this but I decided to keep this draft...I can always take it down if I don't get good feedback! This chapter was bittersweet; I didn't mean for it to be like that, but often chapters write themselves. But please review, if you can._


	40. Right Here

_Author's Note: First of all, I'd like to thank everyone for the reviews; I can't believe I got to 1,000! Thank you all so, so much! _

_Second, I'm sorry that I wasn't able to get this chapter up last week…I wanted to update last weekend as a thanks for reaching my reviews milestone! But I wanted this chapter to be PERFECT so I took my time with it. Therefore, I give you a chapter that I am truly proud of…_

_Happy reading, and enjoy!_

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Chapter Forty:

Hermione sat at Ginny's desk, a blank piece of parchment in front of her, a ready quill in her hand. The only problem was, there was nothing to write. The lull of relaxation that had set over the Burrow had dissipated as the sun was setting and everyone realized that the wedding was the next day. Mrs. Weasley had announced at four thirty that she was making a meal in celebration of the following day, and Hermione could hear the clink and clatter of china from the floor below her, where Mrs. Weasley was cooking. She had been banished from the kitchen after telling Mrs. Weasley for the seventh time that there was no need to do this, and that they were already under enough stress. Taking Mrs. Weasley's fifth feigned deafness as a cue of defeat, she had retreated upstairs to deal with her own form of coping under anxiety: list making. In the last few hours everyone had developed their own coping method: Mrs. Weasley was cooking, Hermione was making lists, and Ron had taken to running upstairs to his bedroom every thirty seconds to make sure that his dress robes were still hanging in his closet.

There was a light knock on the door and Ginny entered, closing it behind her and sitting on her bed.

"You didn't have to knock, it's _your_ room," Hermione reminded her with a smile, and Ginny laughed.

"I know, but everyone's so on edge right now, I thought that if I didn't announce myself, you might curse me by mistake," she said, grinning.

Hermione laughed, though stopped when she realized that she might have done; she had become increasingly jumpy. "I thought you were helping you mum in the kitchen," she asked, getting up from the list she would never be able to write and sat down on her camp bed opposite Ginny.

Ginny responded to this by rolling her eyes. "Mum sent me out of the kitchen. Apparently I don't peel potatoes the right way," she said, rolling her eyes again and sitting back so that she was leaning against the wall behind her bed. "She's impossible," she added, giving the floor a dirty look as a pot clattered on the stove.

"Was that the bang I heard a few minutes ago?" Hermione asked. Ginny shook her head.

"No, that was Ron. He tripped coming down the stairs," she told Hermione. "It was quite spectacular actually, you should have seen it. He managed to tumble down three flights before coming full stop. Mum's forbidden him from going up and down the stairs again, just in case he breaks a bone next time," Ginny said, her voice shaking with laughter.

Hermione sat up straighter. "Is he okay?" she asked, half-rising from the bed, yet at the same time thinking that it was a very Ron thing to do, still tripping down stairs at the age of twenty. He'd never grow into his body.

Ginny stopped laughing. "He's fine. It was bound to happen, he's been to his room thirty times in the last ten minutes," she mused.

Hermione nodded. "He's checking to make sure his dress robes are still there," she said, and she couldn't help smiling, because it was such a sweet thing to do. He had stopped teasing her for being so anxious once he had started.

Ginny took in Hermione's worried expression and smiled slowly. "He's really excited, you know. When mum banned him from the staircase he and Harry started playing chess. I was watching their game until Ron became too nauseatingly cocky with himself. But he's so excited; he keeps on talking about it, and talking about you. I don't think I've ever seen him this happy."

Hermione smiled, her heart pounding loudly in her chest. She could remember feeling happier than this either. She wanted to see him very badly, she wanted to talk to him, but leaving Ginny would be unfair.

"Did you think that this would happen?" Hermione asked Ginny. Many nights, during the holidays when they were all still at school, Ginny and Hermione would stay up late, Ginny trying to weasel it out of Hermione that she liked Ron, and Hermione firmly denying it. Once they had reached the point that Hermione could admit it, they moved to Ron, unfairly – or, perhaps, quite fairly – berating him and his inability to show his emotions. It was hard to believe that it had been only four years ago.

Ginny shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, then paused, thinking. "Well," she said slowly. "I always knew it was going to happen. It _had_ to happen, the way you two carried on. I just didn't think that he would grow up so quickly and get himself together quite so soon," Ginny said truthfully, and Hermione laughed in agreement. "I thought," Ginny continued, "That you'd keep dancing around each other for years. And once you _did_ get together, it would be ages before he asked you to marry him," she finished, and Hermione felt her heart lift at those last words, though she didn't visibly show it. There was something in Ginny's voice, a tiny, hidden edge that made Hermione hesitant.

"He grew up a lot," Hermione said. "And I suppose I did to," she added fairly. "We both did. We both had to."

"And, he realized that if he didn't do anything soon, someone else would take you," Ginny added sagely, leaning back against the wall. Hermione nodded after a few seconds of thinking; it wasn't the most romantic of phrasing.

Ten minutes later, Mrs. Weasley called up to the two of them that dinner was ready, and they best not be late coming down. Ginny and Hermione exchanged looks, then made their way downstairs. Ron was hovering in the shadow of the doorway, looking hesitant. He had a cut on his chin from where he had fallen.

"Are you alright?" she asked him, once Ginny had made her way into the kitchen. Even in the dim light, Hermione could tell that his ears had gone red. She raised her hand and gently brushed the scratch on his chin, and he smiled at her touch.

"Fine," he said in an offhand manner. "I just…" he cleared his throat, very evidently embarrassed, "You know…tripped," he said, looking slightly past her to a photograph behind her head. Hermione smiled, reaching for his hand silently.

"Come on," she said, leading him out from the shadows of the doorway. "I think you mum wants us to walk in together," she said, and Ron refrained from rolling his eyes at his mother. They walked into the kitchen to applause, which caused Hermione's cheeks to go hot and Ron's ears to go even redder. The entire Weasley family was there, as well as her parents. The kitchen was extremely crowded, it wasn't designed to accommodate so many people, but Mrs. Weasley had been determined. Every spare inch of the space around the table was surrounded by chairs and the table was laden with food. Two chairs at the head of the table, which were directly under a banner with their names on it, were left vacant for Ron and Hermione. Hermione felt her face grow even redder, and she and Ron exchanged _let's-just-get-this-over-with-shall-we_ glances and made their way to the head of the table.

Once everyone's undivided attention was off the two of them and instead on Mrs. Weasley's wonderful cooking, the dinner became more enjoyable. Everyone was so packed together that it was impossible not to feel incredibly fond of everyone. There was a lot of laughter and raised voices as people called to one another. Yet she felt slightly apart from everyone, knowing that what she and Ron must be feeling was so very different from what everyone else was feeling. They exchanged glances under the cover of the rest of the family shouting to one another, his arm around her, her legs tangled in his.

After a very long dinner, everyone retired to their respective bedrooms; they had all agreed that it wouldn't do to stay up late tonight. She kissed Ron goodnight on the landing of Ginny's bedroom, regretfully watching him ascend the stairs to his attic bedroom, and wanting very much to follow him up there.

She and Ginny talked aimlessly for a half hour, but full of her mother's excellent cooking, Ginny drifted off to sleep and left Hermione in the dark, accompanied only by her thoughts. She lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what Ron was thinking, if his eyes were drawn to his closet where his robes were, just like hers were drawn to Ginny's closet. Much to her mother's happiness, she was wearing her mother's wedding dress tomorrow; something she had initially had reservations about. But thanks to Fleur's eye for fashion – something Hermione knew absolutely nothing about – the dress had turned into something beautiful and almost unrecognizable.

After lying in bed for over an hour, Hermione grew restless. She knew she ought to get sleep or she'd be tired in the morning, but she felt as though it weren't possible for her to feel tired or any other negative feeling. She was so full of happiness; there wasn't any room for it.

Tired of hearing the clock tick away the seconds she lay awake, she slid her feet over the edge of the bed and tip-toed out of the room. The floorboards creaked under her bare feet, and she was thankful that Ginny was as deep a sleeper as Ron was. She didn't even flinch as Hermione opened the door, allowing a sliver of light from the corridor window to fall across her face.

As she carefully walked down the stairs to the kitchen, intent on making herself a cup of tea, she realized that she wasn't the only one still awake. From the last step she watched as the lights in the kitchen flicked on and off in a very familiar way. She smiled to herself and walked into the kitchen, where a kettle of water was already on the stove.

Ron was sitting in the middle of the table, holding the Deluminator in his hand and entertaining himself with the kitchen lamp, which was lighting and extinguishing itself over his head. When Hermione walked in, Ron let the light out of the Deluminator and gave her a guilty sort of grin, as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't have done.

"You're still awake," Hermione said, walking around the long table and sitting down next to him and bringing her feet up to her chest. It was slightly drafty in the kitchen, and nights were becoming reminiscent of autumn, which was soon approaching.

Ron nodded. "Course I am, I couldn't sleep," he said, putting the Deluminator down on the table in front of him.

"I shouldn't be here," Hermione said suddenly. "It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding," she said, noticing how the word bride came out of her mouth as if it were covered in gold. Ron smiled too.

"It's bad luck if I see you in your wedding dress. I'm pretty sure you're not wearing that tomorrow, right?" he asked, looking down at the old tee-shirt of his that she had donned.

Hermione laughed. "No, I'm not wearing your Chudley Cannons gear tomorrow," she said, looking down at the orange shirt of his that had always been her favorite.

Ron sighed. "Too bad, you look beautiful in it," he said, and she laughed, because she knew no one else in the entire world would say that. Her heart fluttered again.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Ron looked up, then at Hermione. "I have an idea," he said, standing up abruptly. Hermione looked up at him.

"What are you doing?" she asked, taking the hand he offered her and standing up as well. Ron grinned at her, pointing his wand at the stove to turn off the flame underneath the kettle. She followed him out of the kitchen, though paused on the staircase when she figured out where he was taking her.

"Ron, _no_. You're mum would be so angry if she knew I saw you tonight, what do you think she'd do if we…you know…went to your room," she said in a tiny whisper, as if scared of being overheard.

Ron, who was already on the third step, looked back at her and retraced his steps. "Don't worry, Hermione, we'll keep mum happy," he said, though he had a look in his eye that told her that he'd much rather _not_ make his mother happy. "Trust me, okay?" he asked, and she did. She allowed him to lead her all the way up to his bedroom, which was empty and still plastered in orange.

"I thought Harry was sleeping with you?" Hermione asked, eying the few square inches of floor that usually was occupied by Harry's camp bed. Ron shook his head.

"Percy and Audrey decided to go home and just Apparate in the morning, so Harry took his room," Ron said. He walked over to the bed and flipped on the lamp near his bedside table. Hermione followed him after a moment's hesitation and sat down opposite him.

"This is just like old times," she said, grinning at him, and Ron laughed. He didn't bother to keep his voice down, and Hermione winced slightly. She couldn't shake the slightly guilty feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"If this was like old times, you wouldn't be sitting on my bed," he told her, and she laughed. His laughter was contagious; this time, she laughed fully and loudly too.

"No," she agreed. "I'd be sitting all the way over there," she said, pointing to the edge of his bed, the place farthest from him. And I'd be making sure that whatever we did, we wouldn't be touching at all," she said, grinning.

"Well, we'd be thinking about it," Ron said happily. "We just thought the other one didn't think the same thing," he added rightly.

Hermione laughed, remembering two very different people. "We wouldn't be talking, and your ears would be red," she added, and Ron affected mock-horror, covering his ears.

"Hey!" he said, nudging her, which turned into kissing, which escalated into Ron's hands up her shirt, which then quickly stopped, before anything else happened.

"So," Hermione said firmly, pulling down her shirt and running her hand through her hair. "Was this your plan all along? Bring me up here and mess me around?" she asked, smiling. Ron grinned.

"You think so highly of me," he said jokingly. "Actually, I had a different idea," he said. Hermione watched as he opened the drawer of his bedside table and pulled out a folded up piece of paper. But before he could shut it, something caught Hermione's eye.

"Ronald Weasley, do you keep _books_ in your bedside table?" she asked incredulously. Ron paused in the act of unfolding the piece of paper and looked at Hermione hesitantly.

"You're going to marry me tomorrow, right? No matter what?" he asked, and Hermione nodded solemnly. Curiosity was ebbing at her. She watched as Ron pulled three books, two she recognized, and one she didn't. Ron picked up the first book and handed it to her. _Hogwarts: A History_. "I actually did read it," he said, and Hermione looked up, shocked.

"Did you? When?" she asked, trying to remember a time when she had seen him reading a book, much less _this_ one.

Ron looked slightly hesitant. "When I left you and Harry. You packed it and I just took it on the way out. It was comforting actually, because you'd practically memorized it, so when I was reading it I could sort of hear your voice in my head, reading it along with me. I finished it on Christmas Eve, the night I came back to you," he said, and Hermione felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. "It's a crap book though, incredibly dull and dry, I have no idea how you read it," Ron added, and she smiled, nudging him gently with his toes.

"What's the second book?" she asked him, looking at the next book in his hands, the book she did not recognize. Ron looked extremely embarrassed.

"Er, it was a present from Fred and George when I came of age. Obviously I could never show it to you," he said, holding up an elaborately decorative book, on whose cover was a title in such ornamental script Hermione could barely read it.

"_Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches_," Hermione read aloud, looking at the book and then up at Ron's very red face. "You must be joking," she said incredulously. "Did you actually read this?" she asked, taking the book from Ron's hands and flipping through it.

"No, don't – " but it was too late, she had seen what he hadn't wanted her to.

"You took notes in the margins!" she exclaimed, noticing his untidy scrawl in the spaces between the type. Ron took the book back, looking slightly disgruntled.

"Yeah, well, I was sixteen, wasn't I?" he said defensively. "I didn't have a clue what I was supposed to do, how to get rid of Lavender and how to get with you, did I? So when Fred and George gave it to me, I thought 'why not? Nothing else is working,' and it turns out, it was pretty useful," he added, his face returning to its normal color.

"Yeah?" Hermione asked. "Which one of those tips worked," she asked, though by now she was slightly curious.

Ron grinned broadly. "Best one for you was compliments. You _love_ them," he said with relish, now fully aware that the joke was off of him and could easily be transferred to her.

"I do _not_," she said indignantly, fully believing in her conviction. She had never thought of herself to be the kind of girl that would go weak at the knees at a mere compliment.

"Oh yes you do," Ron told her. "Soon as I said you were good at lessons or I liked your hair or your socks looked nice, you'd get this really big grin on your face," Ron said, though he wasn't making fun of her, he said it endearingly.

"What else in that book worked?" Hermione asked, now genuinely curious; she had been completely oblivious to Ron's attempts to _charm_ her. She thought he was just maturing.

"Well, there was this whole chapter on touching and stuff, which I thought was a bit crap at first, but it's brilliant now," Ron said, his ears turning red again.

"Excuse me?" Hermione asked.

"Like putting my arm around you! That sort of thing!" Ron said, his eyes widening. And Hermione had nothing else to say to that, considering the fact that it _still_ worked. "I just had to get up the courage to touch you without getting nervous. Do you know how long it took for me to hold your hand?" he asked.

"About seven years," she added dryly, but they both smiled. "So," she continued, "What about the third book?" there was something vaguely familiar about it, as though she had seen it a long time ago. Ron held it up in front of her. It was black and had no writing on the front, save for Ron's name, written in Hermione's careful cursive. And then she recognized it.

"The homework planner!" she cried, taking it from him, though this time he didn't resist. "I can't believe you still have this," she said in a hushed voice.

Ron grinned. "Course I still have it. Just had to put a Silencing Charm on it, or it would have driven me mad," he said, and Hermione gave him a disdainful look.

"You silenced a book?" she said in a dangerous whisper, and Ron actually attempted to back up a bit, but was impeded by the headboard.

"Listen, Hermione, you would too if a book spat out annoying little phrases at you every now and then," he said defensively. "But I only used it once. Look at the first page," he told her, and she flipped open the black – and now silent – leather book to its first page. She recognized Ron's writing immediately.

_Do Charms homework_

_Ask Hermione to do Charms homework_

_Ask Hermione out_

_Ask Hermione out_

Hermione looked up at him, smiling softly. It was such an endearing and summarizing list of their school days. She wanted to rip it out of the book and keep it with her. She understood why Ron had kept the book all this time. "Why is that crossed out the first time?" she asked, pointing to the third line, the line she was referring to. Ron leaned forward to look at it again.

"I crossed it out at first, and then I realized that it really _was_ on my list of things to do, so I put it back on," he said.

"It was just under doing Charms homework," Hermione said, smiling. "Or, under asking _me_ to do your Charms homework," she said, and they both laughed.

"I was prioritizing," Ron joked, and Hermione laughed. But something else caught her eye; the piece of paper that Ron had taken out before she had been distracted by the books.

"What's that?" she asked, pointing at the piece of paper in Ron's lap. Ron picked it up, and looked over at her.

"This is why I wanted you to come up here in the first place," he said. Hermione raised her eyebrows, looking at Ron curiously. But she had kept him on edge, so he reciprocated, taking care to put the three books back before addressing the piece of paper. "I was thinking, when we were at dinner tonight, tomorrow when we say our vows, it's going to be in front of all those people," he said.

It had been Hermione's idea to write their own vows. It was the only wedding cliché that she wanted to participate in. Ron had been hesitant at first – words weren't his strongest suit – but when he realized how much it meant to her, he had agreed. She nodded. "That's right, why?" she asked. She doubted – knowing Ron's track record – that he had written them yet. She might get angry if he asked her to write them for him right now.

"Well, tonight at dinner, didn't you think it was a bit…crowded?" Ron asked. "Just, there were so many people there, when all we really needed was us?" he paused, furrowing his brown in concentration. "That's not what I meant. I love my family. I love your family. But to tell you that I love you, I don't need everyone there. Some things…should just be us," he said slowly.

Hermione took Ron's hands in hers. "I know what you mean, I understand Ron," she said earnestly. Ron nodded, and seemed to gain confidence in her confirmation.

"So, I was thinking," Ron said slowly. "What if we say them now, with just the two of us?" he asked, looking at her carefully, as if she would immediately reject the idea.

Hermione smiled softly. "I think that's perfect," she said. She looked down at the piece of paper on the bed. "Is that what it is? Are those your vows?" she asked, and he nodded. She waited for him to unfold it and read them, but he didn't. She glanced at them and then back at him, and he answered her silent question.

He shook his head. "I don't need that," he said. She realized that this was it; this was what she had waited years for, what years of lying awake in her dormitory wondering if he would ever _wake up_ and see her had led to. This was it. She moved closer. They were sitting opposite each other, both cross legged, on his small bed, the patchwork quilt under her legs wonderfully recognizable. Their knees were touching and his hands were warm in hers. He in his too-shot pajama bottoms and she in his old shirt. Their undeniable closeness was so familiar. It was perfect.

"Can I go first?" Ron asked, and Hermione smiled, nodding. Ron took a deep breath; he looked right at her, his eyes bright, open. "Hermione," he said, taking another deep, shaky breath. She was shaking too. "I've always been added on to someone else's name. I've always been seen as following someone else. I've been the twins' younger brother. I've been Harry's best friend. I've been Ginny's older brother, and I've been Oliver Wood's replacement. No one really sees me as anything but a name added onto a more important one. But you do. You see me as me. You see me as the boy with dirt on his nose. The one who can play a good game of chess. The one who is willing to argue with you. The one who can _win_ an argument against you," he paused and took another shaky breath. They were both crying. "You see me as me, and I love you for that. Which is why," he paused, and Hermione tried to wipe her tears. "Which is why I want my name to follow yours, why my name belongs next to yours. Because I wasn't meant to be just the twins' brother, or Harry's best friend, or Gryffindor's keeper. I was meant to be yours," he finished, letting out an extremely long breath, his face white with nervousness. Hermione squeezed his hands, tears leaking down her face as she beamed at him. Once he realized that he had done alright, he grinned too, his face split by the smile she loved.

"Can I kiss you right now?" she whispered, and Ron laughed. He looked around the empty room.

"There's no one here to tell you not to," he said, and she laughed, leaning over and kissing him, thanking him. When she pulled away, Ron looked at her expectantly.

"Your turn now," he said, and she nodded. She didn't know how to start, where to start. The words she had written weeks ago escaped her mind, but – like Ron – she knew what to say. She would never stop knowing what to say.

"Ron," she said, starting like he did with a deep breath. Ron held on tightly to her hands. "When I was younger, my mother would read me fairy tales that ended in happy endings and sunsets. But I realized a long time ago that the world couldn't end like the fairy tales my mother used to tell me. And I also realized that I don't need that to be happy. I just needed one thing, one person. I needed the man who is incapable of folding his laundry. The man who can't hold a conversation without mentioning Quidditch or chess at least once. The man who can't compliment me without blushing. The man who makes me angry yet makes me happy at the same time; the man who I fight with one moment, yet love more than anything the next. The man," she paused, looking over at the night table, "Who keeps a to-do list from school in a homework planned I gave him for Christmas. The man who can understand me without asking a single question. I need you. We've been through so much together, we've lasted through everything. I know that we can make it through anything. When everything falls apart and things get bad, I know it will be okay because I know I have you. I don't need sunsets or happy endings. I need you. All I will ever need is you, Ron."

She hardly got his name out before he gathered her in his arms and kissed her. They were both crying, their faces wet with tears. They kissed long and deeply, and Hermione had only one thought in her mind. She hoped that whatever happened and whatever came before them, whatever they had to face and whatever the future held, that nothing would change. They would always be as they were right now, kissing on his bed in the middle of the night, knowing that everything they needed was right here.

_The End_

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_Author's Note: Thank you so much if you have read this story from the beginning, if you stuck with me when I took months to update, if you reviewed and gave me your ideas and opinions. I'm going to miss writing this story, but I think I needed to end it here._

_Please review!_

_P.S - Annoyingly, FF won't let me cross out things, so in Ron's hhomework planner the first "Ask Hermione Out" is supposed to be crossed out...It shows up on microsoft word but not on this site._


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